


Where Clarity's Found

by marvcltrash



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hogwarts AU, M/M, Multi, Stucky Big Bang 2017, anxiety cw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 03:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 61,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11843424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvcltrash/pseuds/marvcltrash
Summary: Returning to Hogwarts for his seventh year, Bucky isn't exactly planning to have a run of the mill year to end his stint at Hogwarts. No, Bucky (and Steve, once dragged into it) is taking on his biggest project ever: the frankly ridiculous amount of romantic tension their friends produce. On the road to graduation, he's only got so much time to get not one or two, but six couples together. With an amazing amount of luck and will, maybe he can get himself a date with his best friend too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a real challenge, but I'm glad I did it. I hope y'all like it <3  
> My lovely editor Hannah can be found at @brideofquiet, and without her this fic would not exist.
> 
> A lovely piece of art by @princessoftheworlds can be found here! http://archiveofourown.org/works/11843337

Steve and Bucky have been best friends since they were children. Bucky had always known he was a half-blood, but didn’t know Steve was a Muggle-born until the smaller boy had a bout of accidental magic (thankfully in the Barnes family home; might have been awkward elsewhere). There’s something ironic in Bucky, now, waiting without Steve on the train - something ironic in Steve being a prefect and not Bucky. It may be something in the vein of Steve being approximately three times as “leader material” as him, but that should have nothing to do with it. Set aside, of course, that this is only a line of thinking because Bucky wants to hang out with his best friend. That’s entirely beside the point. 

It’s his second to last train trip towards the castle (though maybe his last; he hasn’t decided if he’s going home for Christmas yet), and Steve is down to the front of the train to play prefect. Granted, so are Bruce, Natasha, Janet and Logan. Bucky remains unsure of how his roommate was even chosen for prefect, but Logan had taken it in stride well, so Bucky figures it’s not really his place to question. Well, it’s not like any of the other seventh year Hufflepuff boys are any more responsible than Logan, and Logan is much better with the first years than Bucky or Clint or even Sam, and definitely better with them than  _ Wade _ . 

Bucky  _ would  _ be sitting down inside the cabin with the rest of the non-prefect semi-delinquents, but he finds himself unable to sit still, and twitching is only pissing Darcy off, which is certainly no goal of Bucky’s own. If it was pissing off Clint or Wade, Bucky wouldn’t much worry after it, but he has a history of reasons to have more fear for the female members of their… group. Steve sometimes calls them a team, though it’s surely ironic (that little shit). Tony, in an equally ironic fashion, calls them a squad, but Bucky can’t force himself to call them either or anything at all. They’re just his friends. 

He’s missed them all summer, terribly of course. Those of them that come from muggle families or even half-blood families text, of course, but the rest have to visit if they want to get up with Bucky, who completely abhors writing at all. He spent the summer more or less inside of Steve’s pocket, with occasional visits from Natasha (his best not-Steve friend) and even fewer visits from Sam (Steve’s best not-Bucky friend). Despite this, he still wants Steve and Tasha here more than anything, and being stuffed next to Darcy and Clint on the same seat just wasn’t his cup of tea, or whatever.

He can’t believe it’s already seventh year. For a while there, perhaps right around OWLs, he wasn’t even sure he was going to get this far, but here he is. NEWT level examinations this year, and all of his friends to support him and keep him going. Everyone graduates this year. Well, not everyone - it’s not Janet’s final year, and not Darcy or Phil or Bruce’s final year, but it’s Bucky and Steve and Clint and Natasha and Tony and Thor and Pepper and Vision (Victor Shade, who has always gone by Vision for reasons unknown) and T’Challa and Hank’s last year, and that’s enough that Bucky can feel it buzzing under his skin. His hands are shaking when he looks down at them. 

“Hey there, jerk,” a voice says from down the corridor of the train, and it hits Bucky just how long he must have been standing right here. Steve’s grinning at him, and Bucky is grinning back, but he’s also realising that they’d only been on the train for thirty minutes when he stepped outside for a moment; prefects have to be at the front of the train for at least the first hour. A hand is on his shoulder and dragging him back into the cabin to grinning faces that don’t ask questions (they’ve been easier about questions since the accident). 

Hours pass like minutes with the lot of them on the train, Bucky and Steve packed together like sardines with the rest of their friends loud and raucous around them. Bucky is calm, pressed into Steve’s side with the lack of room in the compartment, and he doesn’t mind the lack of personal space. Sometimes less space is better, and things only get better with the prefects back in the train car. The hours pass like minutes, and then they are at Hogwarts once more, for the last time. 

Even if they all sat together on the train, and usually sit together in the Great Hall, they had already caught hell several years before for trying to sit together during the Sorting. Headmistress Hill wouldn’t force them apart for the rest of the year, so long as they sat with their own houses for the Sorting and for the graduation ceremonies. They’ll sit together for breakfast tomorrow, so Bucky is content enough to just wrap his arm around Clint’s shoulders (arm carefully back to avoid his hearing aids) and listen to the other boy talk. It’s something about sharks skating around on ice with a disk of some sort, but Bucky never minds that he can’t keep up. Clint is American and a mite odd, but he’s funny and kindhearted, so it doesn’t matter to anyone in their group, here or there. Either way, Natasha would kill them for saying anything. 

For a long time, he kind of thought something was going on between Tasha and Clint, but that has since proven itself wrong in a spectacular fashion. Upon questioning from Tony, Natasha had snapped something along the lines of not having to have romantic feelings to be close to someone, cutting her eyes at someone across the Great Hall whom Bucky couldn’t identify in time. It seemed like a dig with the way Tony went red to his ears, but Bucky still doesn’t understand exactly what happened, and he was  _ there _ . 

He knows with certainty that he won’t be able to catch Steve on the way back to the dormitories, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to try. Steve has to walk first years down to the damp, drafty Slytherin common room and show them to their dorms, a duty Bucky does not envy. Steve has been a prefect since their fifth year, and Bucky gets a flash of his best friend nearly jumping up and down, bursting with excitement and manic grin on his face. Somehow, they had known to send Steve’s mail to Bucky’s house, even though Steve had only been there for a few days. 

He wasn’t there when Tasha reacted to her own prefecture, but, according to Clint, she hadn’t really reacted all that much. More a knowing glint in her eye and more cuddling that night, Clint told him (though Bucky knows for a fact Clint and Natasha are not together and never have been, sometimes he wonders - then Clint and Bruce make eye contact and he  _ knows _ ). He wonders after the fact that so many of their friends are prefects, with the reputation the rest of them have for different kinds of mischief (and, in some cases, the reputation the prefects themselves have). 

He catches sight of almost all of their friends (not Bruce, who tends to duck beneath the ebb and flow of crowds - he thinks Clint saw him though, based on his friend’s glowing smile), spread across the houses as they are, before heading back to his own common room. It is abnormal to walk with one of their friends without some contact, so Bucky reaches out a hand, which Clint quickly takes, though not in the way Bucky had originally thought. This time he locks arms with Clint, both of them seriously considering skipping down to the barrels, if only to spook nervous first years.

This may or mayn’t be why Clinton and himself are  _ not  _ prefects. 

Catching the heat of Logan’s glare from the other side of the corridor, they elect not to skip, just walking in a quite dramatic fashion down to the barrels. Bucky has to play the combination; Clint’s hearing aids are good, but not quite good enough for music in a crowded hallway, and there’s no telling when they’ll mess up. Tony has tried to adapt them as much as he can (they certainly frizzle out less than they did in, say, fourth year when they memorably exploded), but sometimes the latent magic of Hogwarts still manages to cause the batteries to drain and eventually die. He wears them as little as possible (easier, now, that most of their friends can sign). 

There isn’t much to do, once settled into their usual bed arrangement; there aren’t any windows in the Hufflepuff dorms, so there are no beds by windows to be argued over. Clint and Logan both need to be in beds by walls, and Sam takes the bed against the wall perpendicular to both walls Clint and Logan take. Left are Bucky and Wade, the first of whom has always preferred to sleep as close to Clint (a trusted friend) as possible (this, of course, also put together Wade and Logan, the latter of whom always seems just this close to killing the former). The five of them have shared a room now for six years, on the beginning edge of seven. Bucky isn’t sure how he’s going to sleep in an empty loft after graduation. 

“Aw, coffee,” Bucky hears from across the room, swiftly followed by a metallic clang against the floor. Clint is rubbing the back of his neck and blushing when he picks it up. Even if they’ve only been in the dorm for, if even, five minutes, Clint is already changed into sweatpants and a hoodie. Despite the warmth of summer still clinging to the castle, Clint always claims it’s too cold in the school for his American ass. As for the coffee, Clint brings and subsequently drops a jar every single year since third year. Luckily, the canister didn’t break this time.

“That’s three years in a row, Clint,” Sam’s voice comes from the bathroom, startling Bucky. He hadn’t even realised the other boy had already arrived. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Clint pouts, setting the coffee back onto his and Bucky’s shared bedside table. 

“It kinda does,” Sam laughs, and Bucky smirks. 

“He’s not wrong, Clint,” he joins in on the heckling, eyebrows raised. 

“Bucky-bear! How could you? Join forces with the Man Who Couldn’t Lean Forward,” Clint whined, and Bucky’s smile drops into a false scowl. It’s not uncommon for their friends to bring up this little joke; Bucky is almost surprised it took until after dinner on the first day for someone to tease one of them for it. Upon the beginning of Steve’s friendship with Sam, back in fifth year, Sam had known who Bucky was, but not vice versa. Sam had switched from an American wizarding school to Hogwarts, and had only shown up a week before he met Bucky, who wasn’t in the dorm much. 

At one of Steve’s quidditch games, a new guy was sitting in their group, but Bucky paid no mind to it. The others were constantly pulling in new friend after new friend, so this wasn’t a new occurrence. Except, new guy was sitting where Bucky usually did, at Nat’s left. No big deal, Bucky can just sit behind him. Except, when he sits down, the guy leans back into his lap. What the fuck? He asked the guy to lean forward, and he just looked up, smiled, and stayed where he was. What the fuck? 

The guy was Sam, and Bucky got bamboozled. He’s still a little pissed. 

A year and a half hence, Bucky has mostly gotten over it (and the pangs of jealousy every time Sam and Steve hang out with out him, the hollow feeling behind his vocal chords has mostly gone away). Sam and Clint and virtually everyone else in their squad still teases him for it - save Wanda, who nearly never teases anyone for anything, besides her brother, of course. Sure, she’ll throw around little quips, but timid Wanda rarely really goes for his throat like perhaps Steve or Tasha or even Clint might. 

Before Bucky can generate a reply, the door to their dormitory bangs open, hitting against the suitcase Clint still hasn’t moved from where he set it down when they came in. Clint, claiming muggleborn and American for reasoning, never converted to bringing a trunk. Inspecting the bottom of the door to make sure he didn’t break it again, Wade Wilson stands in the doorway with a wide grin. 

“Hey, kids, did you miss me?” Wade asks, dropping his things and jumping directly into Clint’s arms. Clint, forever a forgiving soul (as well as having a liking of Wade from years of experience), wraps his arm around their roommate. The American once told Bucky that Wade reminded him of his dog back home. 

“Missing you would imply I didn’t facetime you less than a week ago, Wilson,” Bucky teases from where he’s leaning on his bed, grinning at the display of affection. He loves his friends. 

“You didn’t facetime me, Barnes,” Sam jokes. Bucky rolls his eyes on cue. 

“I hate this fucking family,” he says petulantly, throwing a pillow in Sam’s general direction. Integration of memes amongst their friends is old news, though frequently they still manage to confuse poor Pietro and Wanda, as well as Thor and Loki. The Maximoff twins were pureblood transfers from Durmstrang a couple of years ago, and pop culture is concerningly new to them. Thor and Loki, from what Bucky can tell, are just fucking pretentious. 

“Oh my god, shut up,  _ James _ ,” Clint says, finally putting Wade down. Wade, unsettled, picks back up his things and literally tosses them into his bed. Not much can be said for grace - nor silence. The room, for the next little while, is quiet - Logan slips in without much fuss after ten minutes like this. 

“Logan!” Wade says excitedly, leaping out of his own bed and into Logan’s before Logan himself can get there. Logan rolls his eyes, but there’s just enough fondness there that Bucky isn’t worried about any effects to Wade’s person (or Wade’s feelings; they all joke, but they know how delicate Wade is sometimes). With his usual levels of inhuman strength, Logan lifts Wade out of his bed and places him back in his own without saying a word. 

“Hey, Logan,” Sam greets him, smile obvious in his voice even though Bucky’s not looking. Logan just raises a hand in a mock salute, still not speaking. Bucky doesn’t really know what goes on when Logan leaves Hogwarts, but it takes him a few days, every year, to start talking like a normal person again. All Bucky really knows about Logan (outside of Hogwarts) is that he grew up in Canada, or something, he thinks. His thoughts are broken up by Clint yawning, attracting his eyes as well. 

“You think maybe it’s time for bed, Hawkeye?” Bucky asks, ribbing at his friend a little. Hawkeye is another inside joke - when the rest of their friends found out that Clint regularly, and with skill, used a bow, Tony started using all kinds of archer nicknames and jokes. Teasing and such is one of the only ways one can be sure that Tony Stark cares about you, as well as the immediate invention of items to help with your hobbies. Clint nods and, despite his sleepy state, catches the blanket Bucky throws at him. Bucky brings extra blankets for him every year, given that Clint likes making nests and forgets to bring supplies to do so. 

“Thanks, Buck,” he says sleepily, beginning his construction. By the time he’s done and settled in, everyone else is ready for bed too. They all have a soft spot for each other, and there’s no way they’re going to do anything that might keep Clint awake - none of them sleep enough to be losing any. For once, it only takes minutes for Bucky to fall asleep. 

The morning light cascades across Bucky’s bed with the kind of softness he usually might associate with having Steve over, a rare morning of waking up before his best friend. Steve has always been an early riser for reasons unknown, while Bucky has always been the kind of young man to get up ten minutes late and rush getting ready so much he’s likely to hurt himself. Waking with his mind clouded with thoughts of Steve isn’t new, but he tries to push them out anyway, pushing himself out of bed. Wade is obviously already awake, though that’s not a surprise. He’s like Steve, jumping out of bed at the crack of dawn. 

With Wade and Logan the only ones out of bed, Bucky at least has a ballpark idea of just how early it is. Wade is always up first, around 5:45, then Logan at 6, then Sam at 6:30 and then Clint and Bucky sometime later and disorganised. Half the time it’s Clint hustling Bucky out of bed, the other half the other way around. He hustles himself out of bed this morning and casts a time charm - 6:18. That would explain Sam’s snores coming across the room, and Logan’s absence. Bucky collects his things in silence and runs to shower, closing the door to the bathroom as quietly as he can. 

His shower is quick and he abjectly thinks of nothing the entire time, purposefully making the water hot enough he can’t even think cold thoughts. He runs a brush through his hair and puts it up into a bun instead of drying it properly, obstinately working with the stubborn fingers of his left hand. A few strands hang in his face, but he doesn’t let it bother him. He is well-practiced in the fine art of cutting himself a break - except that he isn’t. He just doesn’t make eye contact with himself in the mirror while getting dressed. 

When he comes back into the room, Sam is awake enough to flip him off when Bucky throws his towel at him. They don’t say anything to each other before Sam walks into the bathroom and Bucky walks out of the dorm entirely. 

Compared to the rest of their friends, Bucky isn’t particularly early to breakfast - it’s only compared to his own usual time that his first morning at Hogwarts always comes up odd. He sleeps well the first night every single year like clockwork, though the rest of the year is always a tossup. Steve, Wanda, Wade, Pietro, Hank, Vision, Pepper, Coulson, Bruce and Loki are already at the table when he sits down, looking to be having a rather in depth conversation for south of seven in the morning. It’s never a surprise to see Wade sitting with them, but always a tossup - he sometimes sits with Charles Xavier and the friends he has collected. 

Steve hands him a hot cup of tea without looking up at him, and just pets his hair when Bucky leans his head against Steve’s shoulder. The tea looks to already have cream and sugar in it, so Bucky risks a sip instead of trying to doctor it. The tea is perfectly done and Bucky smiles. He isn’t sure whether he should risk eating yet, with the sick stomach he sometimes has in the morning, so he just waits while the rest of the table fills in around him. He’s not awake enough to talk much yet, he thinks. 

Bucky watches as Bruce lights up and knows that Clint has just walked into the Grand Hall. True to his instincts and prior experience, the seat between Bruce and Natasha fills with the archer, grin and all. He watches still as Loki’s usual resting bitch face flows into an easy smile, and feels Steve move closer to him to allow Tony to sit down. The pattern continues with the relaxation of Natasha’s shoulders as Darcy walks into the room, Hank watching Janet walk in, so on and so forth. Bucky just wishes everyone would get their shit together. 

An idea strikes him and he immediately physically reacts, sitting up straight and blinking. If they won’t get their shit together… maybe he could get their shit together for them. Steve can tell he’s having an idea, and Bucky wishes they had their phones so he could just text it to him. Again, the rest of their friends allow him to be strange with no reaction - they always let him live when it comes to strange reactions and things that look like symptoms. They’re so good to him - he has to do it. They’ll never get it together otherwise. He has to make them happy together, to pay it back. 

Thinking about their friends as he knows them tells Bucky just exactly how this will go down if no one does anything about it. Clint and Bruce only have so much time before the atmosphere dissolves and they miss their chance. Natasha will convince herself she doesn’t have feelings for Darcy, and Darcy will find someone else and make it go away. Tony is graduating in a few months and Loki still has a year left after that. Pepper and Coulson would tuck their feelings away efficiently and stubbornly not think about it. Hank will pretend he and Janet are just best friends, and Janet will let him. Bucky could… Bucky could do something about this.

He wants to tell Steve right away. Usually, this kind of meddling and butting into their friends’ relationships would be Steve’s idea and Bucky would have to say no, but if it’s Bucky’s idea in the first place, Steve will agree. Steve will probably help. One last line of mischief and helping - one last mission - before they graduate. 

The rest of breakfast passes quickly with lots of glances heated with longing or some shit - Bucky just puts his head back on Steve’s shoulder and plots quietly, only speaking when spoken to and generally keeping his mouth shut. 

Between breakfast and his first class - Potions with the rest of the seventh years that made it to NEWT level - he grabs Steve and drags him into an alcove. Having dealt with all of their friends for six years - and Bucky for longer - Steve doesn’t look surprised by being grabbed, just interested. 

“So, what was the idea?” he asks immediately instead of waiting for Bucky to talk. He’s just as ready for mischief that’s Bucky’s idea as Bucky himself is. None of the pranks or missions have been Bucky’s creation since the accident. 

“Matchmaking. Our shitty friends need matchmaking and we’ve gotta do it, Stevie,” Bucky announces, gesticulating enthusiastically. He has a lot of feelings, okay? A smile slowly drips into Steve’s expression and Bucky  _ should  _ have enough experience with Steve’s face for it to not affect him, but good God will he ever? He doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until Steve is speaking again, the tension flowing out of his own shoulders. 

“ _ You  _ want to matchmake?” Steve questions, eyebrow quirked suggestively. Bucky understands the confusion latent beneath the joking nature of the question, as well as the doubtful nature of asking in the first place. Meddling just is not Bucky’s usual method. 

“I don’t want to, but we have to do it. Somebody’s gotta do it - might as well be us. Clint and Bruce are never gonna get their shit together, Tasha isn’t gonna let herself feel shit for Darcy, Hank’s got his head so far up his ass about Jan, Tony and Loki won’t touch that with a ten foot pole and Pepper and Coulson are real good are ignoring things.  _ Somebody’s gotta do it, _ ” he emphasizes, again gesturing wildly. He knows Steve will agree, he just knows it, but he can’t rationalize how emotional he’s getting about it. He can’t tell Steve his other motivations either (then, Steve would surely say no). 

“Alright, Buck,” Steve acquiesces, shrugging one shoulder, “if it’s that important to you.” The shitty smirk says more than Steve does, and Bucky knows he’s just being a shithead, but he’s just glad Steve agreed. He grins up at Steve (he didn’t used to have to look up, he remembers Steve small and looking up at him and - he tramps down on the memories before they can swallow him whole) and shoves him out of the alcove. 

“And now,” he says and pauses for additive dramatic effect, “to class.” 

The rest of the day passes as the first day always does, the less than addicting mix of too fast and too slow that leaves Bucky reeling. He has friends in every single one of his classes, given that NEWT classes are always mixed house classes, but that only makes it marginally better. He wishes the only people in his classes were his friends, but he knows well enough that it’s never going to happen. Not even Headmistress Hill loves him that much, even if his friends would definitely allow their schedules to be manipulated like that. The day passes, he eats both dinner and lunch with his friends, and he goes straight to sleep as the night before. Unfortunately, things do not go so well from there. 

When he wakes up on the morning of his second day of seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Bucky Barnes is covered in sweat and full of fear. He nearly lashes out at the figure above him, but holds himself back as he recognises blue eyes and slow motions. Clint is signing above him in an attempt to avoid any attacks; all of the seventh year Hufflepuff boys have learned well enough to silence themselves while attempting to wake Bucky from his nightmares. They know a lot of them have something to do with noise. Bucky pushes himself out of bed and swallows any of the leftover fear tears, obstinately cracking his knuckles instead of looking at Clint’s still moving hands. 

“Have you told Steve about the nightmares yet?” Clint finally speaks aloud after a few moments of letting Bucky pretend not to notice him, tone both clipped and tired. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but the silence is answer enough; Clint doesn’t have to say anything more either, given that the disappointed but not angry look is enough. He can’t go to Steve, Clint should know - Bucky can’t just run to Steve every single time things suck. Bucky flexes the fingers of his left hand and calms himself to the sound of Clint’s slow and even breaths. 

Once he feels like he can breathe on his own, Bucky gets up and walks to the bathroom. He still says nothing, but can feel Clint’s eyes on him the entire way to the door, searching and asking questions Clint won’t voice and Bucky won’t answer. 

The time charm he casts after leaning his back hard against the door says it’s only 5:30, which means it’s too early for both Bucky and Clint to be awake. How much was he thrashing to wake Clint? If he was making noise, it would have been Wade by his side. Anyway, the early hour means Clint should go back to sleep, though Wade, on the other hand, should be up all too soon. A given explanation for his shitty sleeping habits is the jesting theory that Wade cannot go more than seven hours at a time without speaking, but it could also be that there hasn’t been a night since third year that every single member of the seventh year Hufflepuff boys dorm has slept through the night. It’s not that big of a deal. 

A shower is in order to clear his head, Bucky decides, even as he knows it can’t work if he keeps glancing down at his left hand. He keeps his eyes closed as much as he can to avoid looking at it or thinking as much as possible, but a shower is a shower, which usually involves some kind of navigating of an only semi-aqueous machine. He just doesn’t want to think, is that too much to ask? 

The shower is quick and it does not clear his head, but by the time Bucky is out, Wade is awake and already talking. He’s quiet as not to face Logan’s wrath for waking the Canadian before his alarm, but Wade is still running a steady commentary on what happened in his dream, a story Bucky can’t force himself to follow. Wade knows that Bucky isn’t always the best tempered in the morning, so he keeps conversation before nine positive and quiet, though he doesn’t let it stop him from talking. Bucky doesn’t quite mind the noise. 

Wade talks through him getting dressed, settling down on Bucky’s bed and kicking his feet onto it as well. The comfort and casualness of Wade is reassuring - his friend never treated him different after the accident. He’s still full of questions and words, even if he doesn’t always expect honest answers and just… he doesn’t treat Bucky any differently. Wade has never changed his however limited view on Bucky, never tried to ask him about the accident, never purposely avoided a topic for his delicate sensibilities. It’s cool. 

Wade talks, Bucky doesn’t, and eventually Bucky leaves. That’s cool too. 

Steve is already at the Hufflepuff table (their usual table of choice - chosen, of course, by Tony, as the most stubbornly headstrong of them) when Bucky gets there and sits down. The familiarity of Steve is even more reassuring than Clint and Wade, and Bucky wants to sink into him like an ocean tide. Steve’s brows furrow with concern (not an unattractive look on him) when his eyes skim down to, probably, the circles beneath Bucky’s eyes. Steve’s mouth opens and already Bucky is so tired, so he shakes his head; he knows Steve is still going to talk, but he might as well get his stance on the matter out early. 

“You okay, Buck?” his best friend asks quietly, dipping his head to speak close. The proximity makes Bucky even more sleepy than he was before, so he just leans against Steve instead of replying. Hands move to his shoulders suddenly, and he gets moved in a way that forces him to look Steve in the face. “Are you okay?” Steve asks again, eyebrows raised and concern lacing his voice through. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, Stevie. Just slept shitty, you know?” Bucky minimizes the problem and hopes they can go back to his head against Steve’s shoulder, quiet and relaxed. 

This is not an unfamiliar conversation, as much as Bucky would like to pretend he is navigating new territory. The argument of Bucky’s disinterest in his own health and the torrent of Steve’s concern washing over him is the oldest one they have, though it used to come from Bucky staying awake at night for fun. What he wouldn’t give for those days now is a short list comprised of very few people and items. 

The rest of Steve’s concern is interrupted by Wanda’s arrival at the table, quiet and yet still distracting. Despite having the same past that makes Pietro bitter, Wanda can always be found with a smile, and having her around always makes Bucky’s chest feel lighter. While Bucky gets sidetracked by greeting Wanda and asking quietly after how she is doing, Steve’s arm winds around his shoulders, some of the leftover worry displaying itself as affection. Bucky can’t say that he minds. 

Because Wanda is here, Bucky knows from experience that it won’t be long for Pietro to follow after her. The twins always come as a pair and he is not unfamiliar with the weather patterns of their shared sky. 

Because Wanda is here, Bucky knows from experience that it won’t be long for Vision to follow after her. Bucky is also not unfamiliar with the patterns of teenagers following around their crushes. 

Vision is a seventh year Ravenclaw that Bucky knows more from Tony and Wanda than he does from personal experience, but even he knows that the kid’s real name is Victor Shade. Around fourth year or so, he asked to be called Vision and everyone complied (the complacency of their entire year might have more to do with sharp looks and clever curses from Tony Stark than anything else, but that was neither here nor there). Anyway, what Bucky knows is that Vision and Wanda have been dancing around each other for a while, and they’re on the list as well. He needs to start actually making a list. 

Upon arrival, Vision sits to Wanda’s right side; Pietro has already arrived to sit at Wanda’s left and casts a nasty look to Vision as the elder sits down. Vision, to either his credit or his detriment, either pretends not to notice or does not notice at all. With Wade’s arrival, Pietro is distracted, turning instead to listen to the dream Bucky had mostly ignored earlier, but heard enough of to recognise now. Pepper and Phil (Coulson, Bucky reminds himself, because Phil has preferred Coulson since he was thirteen, even if Phil was better than Phyllis) come in together, already having a discussion he could only guess at the topic of. 

Becca briefly stops by to just touch fingers to Bucky’s hair, seeing the concern coming off of Steve and the bags under Bucky’s eyes; she can’t kick him when he’s down, little sister duties or not. Even she sees him differently, now. It hurts and hurts, it always hurts, but he tries to distract himself and thinks of the things happening around him instead of anything else. He’s okay, he’d like to think. Distractions. 

All of their friends trickle in around him and Bucky’s shoulders are still warm with the weight of his best friend’s arm. 

With the Tuesday schedule, Bucky and a great many of the rest are in Transfiguration for their first morning class. The NEWT level Transfiguration class isn’t all that large; their class as a whole is small with having been born only a year after the second wizarding war. Bucky can’t rationalize the fact that his parents were foot soldiers of what was basically a revolution in the second wizarding war, but he tries anyway. His Mom and Dad met Harry Potter before he was a professor, which is kind of wild. It’s sometimes easier to interact with Steve’s mom because she was a muggle at the time. 

Sometimes Bucky’s thoughts get so off track that he’s thinking about like what if he and Steve did start dating, but instead of working out, everything fell apart. Bucky had messed up quite a few things in his life - he’s skilled enough to fuck up something even so sure as him and Steve. It’s like - what if their relationship was only a month instead of a marriage, a year instead of a lifetime, and they broke up - what would happen to their friend group, to Bucky’s relationship with Steve’s mom, to Steve’s friendship with Becca? God. 

Bucky shakes the thoughts out of his head and continues onto Transfiguration, a mixed house class of all of the kids that made it to NEWT level. Steve is beside him and the back of Tony and Clint’s heads are in front of him. He focuses on Steve and on Tony and on Clint separately before putting all of those positive feelings together, trying to stop the ticking in his hands before Steve notices. He manages it just as Steve looks over. 

_ Are you okay?  _ Steve signs - all of them had learned at least some from Clint years ago. They’re all better at it than even Clint’s brother, from what Bucky understands, including Wanda and Pietro, who’ve only been here a couple of years. He worries about what things are like for Clint at home. 

_ I’m fine _ , he signs back, and then the name sign for Steve after. 

“No talking,” the professor says at the front of the room, “not even if it’s signing.” Clint turns around to look at them, quirking an eyebrow at them. It isn’t as if anyone in their year besides their friends knows sign more than yes or no, so it has to be them (given that, as always, the rest of their friends are in the rows ahead them). Bucky is tempted to flick Clint off, but decides not to risk provoking the professor more than he already has. 

“Yes, ma’am,” both he and Steve drone after a moment, and then pause to smile at each other before picking back up their quills for notes.

Bucky is so fucking gone when it comes to Steve. Fuck. He spends the rest of the class actually trying to pay attention, ducking out as soon as the period is over. Steve walks next to him naturally, the rest of their friends dispersing into the nether. Most of them have a free period, or study hall, for the next hour or so, including one Anthony Edward Stark. 

“Hey, Buckaroo, you got a minute?” Tony asks, having just somehow swung a corner at a fast enough speed to surprise Bucky and Steve without hurting himself. Tony is really the only one that calls Bucky that, and it’s enough of a calling card that the line of Bucky’s shoulders immediately relaxes. He follows Tony back into the hallway where he is widely gesturing - Tony shakes his head when Steve starts to follow as well. “Just Barnes, here, I’m afraid, Mister Rogers.” 

“Oh,” Steve says eloquently, nodding once. “I’ll be in my common room, Buck,” he provides, awkwardly walking away toward the Slytherin dungeon. It displeases Bucky to see him go, but he doesn’t quite mind watching him leave - he’s a fucking pig, he should be ashamed. His eyes snap back to Tony a second too late, but for once, the young Stark heir says nothing, only raising an eyebrow. 

“Anyway, my Hufflepuff compatriot, just a quick Q. When is the Archer Americano’s birthday? I have a guess but I think I might be wrong, and I hate being wrong,” Tony says, kind of all at once and kind of in that slow way that’s just shy of pissing Bucky off sometimes. Also, the fast pace at which Tony projects information reminds him of Wade (a reminder that softens any judgement he could really take with Tony). 

“Eighteenth of July,” Bucky replies on a semi-automatic timer, not really thinking about it, more thinking about how to actually talk. He knows the birthdays of the entire  _ squad  _ as Tony himself would call it, from Clint to the twins to T’challa and everyone in between. Remembering dates is one of the only things he’s good at - History of Magic would be his best subject if it wasn’t so fucking boring. 

“I thought it might be June, but Brucie said July and I knew he was probably right, but I just couldn’t give it up,” Tony explained, gesturing widely as he is wont to do while speaking. Tony is proven to be unable to be trusted holding his own drinks while talking, seeing as he threw an entire tankard of butterbeer onto Thor just last year. Luckily, the blond took it all with good humour, laughing and congratulating Tony on the distance he caught with the liquid. If Thor hadn’t taken it well, there wasn’t really any one of them that could hold him back should he decide to do something about it, though Thor had never been violent. 

“Any particular reason you’d like to know?” Bucky asks, quirking a brow and allowing a small smile onto his face. As much as Tony is more Steve’s friend than Bucky’s, every single one of their friends feels close. Actually, most of their friends had been picked up by Bucky or Steve in one turn or another, usually by way of shared classes and passing in corridors. First was Bucky with Clint and Janet, and then Steve with Tony and Thor; the rest had collected around them in swarms. 

“I was thinking about doing a birthday thing for all of the kids who have birthdays while we’re on breaks. Steve’s is on the fourth of July, Thor’s is on the twelfth of June, Coulson’s is on the eighth of July, T’Challa’s is on December thirty first, and Loki’s is on the seventeenth of December - just after break starts, poor kid - so I want to do something,” Tony explains in his long winded way, and with the last one comes understanding. Bucky nods and the smile grows larger, until he is fully grinning at the Ravenclaw. 

“That’s a really good idea, Tony, I like that. What did you have in mind?” he asks. There are a lot of parts of him riddled with guilt that he ignores, but these parts are also still pleased with the idea of paying back at least some of his friends with celebrations. He pushes that away and makes himself light, focuses on the conversation, and Tony doesn’t comment on any changes in Bucky’s expression or breathing, even though he knows they must have happened (no one ever comments on the changes anymore). 

“Do you think we should just do a party - Steve and Phil would want it nonchalant - or should we embarrass them? You know me, I lean towards the extreme, but I want it to be fun for everyone,” Tony sounds just this side of nervous - it shows just how much he’s thought about it, the edge of losing his carefully crafted nonchalance. It also shows who he’s really thinking of - Loki is the only one who makes him so brittle around the edges these days. Bucky doesn’t comment on any changes either, and he wonders when they all got soft on each other. 

“It’s Steve, so I say embarrass them,” he laughs, bringing around his thoughts. He feels like he has to chase himself around his head sometimes. 

“I was hoping you would say that, Barnes,” Tony says, a smirk stretching across his own face. Despite being just barely seventeen, Tony has the crow’s feet and facial hair of a man several years his senior (it makes it even funnier to see him next to Loki who, despite only being a year younger, wears his youth obviously). Seeing the aging on his friend’s face sometimes worries Bucky, but he pushes that down too. 

“And what’s the plan?” Bucky asks, a beat too late but still excited. 

“I’m glad you asked,” Tony replies, and launches into a long explanation with what seems like twenty lists. Bucky nods along and listens, stays until he can follow Steve back to the Slytherin common room. Tony comes with, and the lot of the squad hangs out until next class. This seems to a kind of preview for the year, but Bucky mostly just tries to enjoy goods things as they come, these days. 

The party, more or less, isn’t to happen for another week (the second weekend of the school year rather than the first, for Tony’s strange reasoning rather than anything else), and Bucky is frankly fucking bored. Nothing of interest is happening in class yet - introductions and syllabi even if they’ve gone to this school since they were knee-high (eleven isn’t knee-high, but Bucky is bitter). It doesn’t seem to matter that he’s known Professors Potter and Longbottom since he was a wee thing,  _ no _ , he needs the introductions in both Defense and Herbology respectively to keep their names straight, apparently. He should find the lack of activity calming or something, but Bucky has always been most calm under fire. 

Steve is restless as well. Bucky can see it in the hard line of his shoulders when he walks up behind him, so he wraps his arms around Steve’s waist. He’s no longer tall enough to hook his chin over Steve’s shoulder, so he just presses his face into the fabric of Steve’s cloak. The Great Hall is mostly empty save the prefects standing in a semicircle and a few stragglers, and Bucky feels safe standing right here. Despite the obvious physical interruption, Steve keeps talking to the other prefects until he’s said what he has to say, only turning to speak to Bucky after. 

“Well, hello,” he says, and hearing the laughter crisping the edges of his words makes Bucky feel better automatically. It feels like Steve’s laughter is autumn leaves and spring flowers and summer sunshine all wrapped tightly into one thing and Bucky’s breath is coming short, a little. He wasn’t so poetic even last year, and he hates to think that he is now, because that’s fucking gross. 

“Hey,” Bucky replies, and then steps out of Steve’s space when he can’t stop himself from staring at his best friend’s face. Maybe less proximity will make staring less weird. Yeah, maybe. The Great Hall seems to have shrunk to just the two of them without Bucky’s noticing or permission, and he feels Steve’s presence like a physical weight on his chest. He’s inevitably distracted by the pains in his left hand - he wishes he could ignore those just like everything else. Bucky doesn’t realise he’s been drifting until Steve’s hand is cupping his face, tilting his chin up so he has to look at him. 

“Where’d you go?” Steve asks, in that calm voice he always uses, soft and sweet and too much for Bucky, he doesn’t deserve this. Steve’s too good for him and they’re not even together - they’re not even together and he already blew it. Of course. If that doesn’t sound like him, he isn’t sure what does. Bitter laughter rises in his throat and coughs itself out, sounding more like the result of a two-pack-a-day smoking habit than the laugh of a teenage boy. 

“I’m right here, Steve. I’m right here.” That comes out bitter too and he doesn’t know why he’s doing this - he was fine a moment ago, he could feel the fineness and safety in his bones. It’s Bucky’s own fault he’s acting weird, he just needs to get his fucking head together, for once in his fucking life. 

“Where are you going, Buck?” Steve asks again, worded differently but still the same question that Bucky can’t answer. Where does he go? He doesn’t know. Some space inside his own head that feels so gone he’s somewhere else, someone else, something else. He snaps himself back into focus well enough to make eye contact with Steve, resisting the urge to wipe at his eyes to hold tears back. Trying to hold them back would mean admitting they were there in the first place, and he won’t be admitting to that anytime soon. Tears could make trails of his cheeks and work their way down his jaw before he would admit to their existence at all. 

“Hufflepuff common room. You wanna come?” he lies - he knows it’s not what Steve is asking, but he says it anyway, asks in hopes to change the subject. Steve folds like a house of cards, more evidence of just how much the accident has changed all of them; he would have fought him on something like this before. This is what Bucky wanted, it shouldn’t be making his shoulders a straight line, his jaw a hard angle, his teeth clenched. He should be happy. He swallows more bitterness, but it doesn’t taste like victory. 

“Sure, Bucky,” Steve concedes. None of their half-arguments tainted with worry and anxiety ever feel won, like war-torn battlefields between them that only hold a series of losses. The metaphor is dramatic and laughable but it doesn’t make Bucky laugh - it only feels too apt and like it’s closing his throat with the truth of it. Despite this being Bucky’s idea, Steve ends up leading him to the Hufflepuff common room, half walking him and half dragging him by the arm. It’s his left arm and it’s weird, but Bucky struggles with trying to normalise this anyway. It’s just another part of his body - if Steve’s okay with it, shouldn’t he be? 

Clint is sitting in the common room with Bruce’s head in his lap when they arrive, the Ravenclaw snoring quietly with his face turned towards Clint’s stomach. 

“He just fell asleep and if you wake him up, I will skin you. He didn’t sleep well last night,” Clint whisper shouts, not risking moving his hands enough to sign at them. He looks down at Bruce fondly with hands in his hair, and if Bucky was in the right mind, he would make a comment about getting a room. Steve’s hand is in his before he can try to wrap his brain around a reply, and his best friend drags him up to his own dorm before closing the door quietly behind them. 

“You didn’t sleep well last night either, Buck,” Steve says it like a fact, never even a question, and, well, it’s not like Bucky can deny it. 

“How would you know?” He can still ask stupid questions if he would very well like to, thank you very much. Adding spaces between them with words as much as he can, he hopes to somehow make up for how close Steve is still standing to him, both of them nearly in the closed doorway.

“He’s beautiful, American, and shares a room with you,” Steve drawls, raising a single eyebrow. It doesn’t technically implicate either of Bucky’s American roommates, seeing as he and Steve have previously had a discussion of the shared beauty of all of their friends. He still blames Sam, just on the principle of the thing (though that would mean that Clint told Sam in the first place and he was to blame as well - complicated). 

“Helpful. Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” Bucky says, but Steve rolls his eyes before he’s three words in and the ending is weak. He wishes he was as strong as he once was. 

“Let’s sleep,” Steve offers, and Bucky  _ really  _ wishes he was as strong as he once was. 

“Okay.” 

Sharing a bed should be awkward between two seventeen year old boys, but with Steve’s hand carding through his hair, Bucky can’t think so. He falls asleep kind of like he’s just waiting for something, and it’s finally there.

Bucky wakes cocooned in warmth and feeling as if weighted sunshine is wrapped around his shoulders like an overcoat. Coming to awareness takes moments rather than minutes, but he’d rather act like it’s taking longer, so he nuzzles his face into the pillows. A soft sound comes from behind his right ear, an exhale of breath he can feel on his neck, and he knows Steve is awake too. For once, Bucky wants to not worry about it, not worry about making it weird or being weird or anything at all, staying not stiffly still but also not getting out bed, just curling back into his best friend. His chest feels light without feeling hollow, like he could float away right now if Steve wasn’t holding him down. 

“Good morning, starshine, the earth says hello,” Steve says quietly after a while, another exhale of breath against Bucky’s neck. The familiarity of the quote is comforting, hearing Steve’s mom’s voice trace over Steve’s in his head, a fractured piece of peace. Bucky wants, suddenly, for mornings at Steve’s house, something that had grown old during the last stretch of summer, but he wants to see Steve’s mom and feel calm and settle into the Irish hills where Steve feels like he’s completely in his element. 

“I don’t think it’s morning, Stevie,” Bucky replies, judging solely by the lack of light pounding on his eyelids and the lack of sounds of his roommates. Steve laughs, quiet and dry. There’s something incredibly humbling about having someone as good as he knows Steve to be draped over him so casually, so… familiar. Bucky wants to feel like this for the rest of his life, and that’s why he lets himself do it now. He may never get the chance again, for all he knows. Suddenly, everything is less warm, less soft. 

“You know, I think you might be right, Buck,” Steve chuckles, and Bucky can feel him lean his forehead against the back of Bucky’s shoulder. For a moment, he can imagine this being an everyday kind of thing, a routine shared between just the two of them - he can imagine this being romantic. He has to get up. He can’t make it weird by getting up too  _ fast  _ either though (having a crush on one’s best friend quickly grows complicated). 

“Have I gotten enough sleep, you think?” he asks, keeping the joking air even while trying to navigate his own convoluted feelings. Steve’s forehead is gone from his shoulder, and then one of his hands from Bucky’s waist; he hadn’t realised it was there before it was gone. The time flashes above them in green (Steve’s magic is usually green or blue, though Bucky isn’t sure why; his own is blue, but he knows why for that), though he hadn’t heard Steve say the spell. He must be getting better at nonverbal magic - Bucky only seems to be getting worse. 

“I’d say so, jerk. You wanna get up and eat with the others?” Steve offers, his hand coming back to Bucky’s hip. The intimacy is almost too much for Bucky, and he rolls off of the bed and onto his feet in one solid motion. 

“Let’s go then, punk,” Bucky replies, offering a hand - always his right, never the left, never - to help Steve up. Steve rolls his eyes but takes it, pulling himself up and throwing an arm around Bucky’s shoulders immediately; he’s really taken to being taller than Bucky, always using it to his own advantage. The doorway should be complicated with the shoulders of two fully grown teenage boys attempting to go through it at the same time, but nothing is ever awkward with Steve and Bucky kind of wants to die. But that’s fine. That’s totally fine. Bucky’s never been finer, thanks for asking. 

Clint and Bruce are no longer on the couch when they arrive in the common room, and no evidence of them remains. Bucky wonders idly how awkward dinner is going to be, if awkward at all, from Bruce’s nap in Clint’s lap. Things sometimes were more complicated with the two of them, having danced around each other for so long as they have. He and Steve need to talk about the matchmaking. He gestures to the couch as they walk by it. 

“What are we going to do about them?” he asks, thankful for the empty common room and the power to speak freely. Everyone else is likely already down to the Great Hall; he and Steve are nearly twenty minutes late already. Steve shrugs even with Bucky’s shoulders beneath his arm, turning to him to look down as he spoke. 

“You know Clint better, and Tony knows Bruce better than me. We’re all friends, but I don’t actually know all that much about Clint or Bruce, you know,” Steve explains, though Bucky knows some elements of that are less than true. Steve knows a great many things about all of their friends, information he remembers scattered over years of living in each and every one of each other’s pockets. They’re too close and codependent to not know at least  _ some  _ about all of them, even the newer ones. Proof enough, Wanda and Pietro only came at the start of last year and Bucky knows enough about them to work with it. 

“You know both of them well enough. Clint’s too bullheaded and self-deprecating to do anything about it and Bruce is too shy. They’ll have to be worked around to it,” Bucky replies, bumping his shoulder against the side of Steve’s chest. 

“What about the rest of them?” the Slytherin asks, bringing up the true mystery of this entire endeavor. 

“I have ideas for Stark and Loki, but for the rest of them… Hank and Jan are too wrapped up in each other for me to get any idea, Clint and Bruce are  _ complicated _ , Darcy and Tasha, I don’t even know how serious they are - I think they’re serious but what do I know? And Coulson and Pepper, I just - I have no God-given idea.” 

The evening passes with laughter shared between them, Steve trying to keep Bucky calm and he knows that. Eventually, they trail over to the kitchens and beg food off of the house elves, as much as Bruce always harps on them for not appreciating the help enough. They go to bed in separate beds and Bucky tries not to ache with the loss, instead just going to sleep and getting up the next morning, actively not making it weird. The next day, a majority of them spend their lunch period in the Ravenclaw common room, the rest of their friends in Gryffindor’s to actually study. All of them can’t be in the same common room save for parties, so they tend to separate if they’re not eating lunch in the Great Hall. They’re still in the corridor on the way to the Ravenclaw common room when two of them start giggling uncontrollably, though one of them has the ability to stop. 

“Okay this is a dumb question, but what’s going on?” Clint asks from behind Tony, who seems to be laughing rather uncontrollably. Bucky isn’t entirely sure of when Clint came in or where he came from, but he’s glad his friend is here to witness this majesty none the less. 

“Cheering charm. He wouldn’t stop being a little shit, so Bruce cheering charmed him. Pretty clever, isn’t it?” Bucky answers, chuckling and pointing at Tony. Bruce had been purposefully overzealous with his use of the charm, and Tony now has a case of the giggles for his efforts. It’s kind of really funny. Tony tries to look angry at being laughed at, but the cheering charm takes that away too, leaving just a giggling mess. Some of the first years on the corridor look a charming mixture of amused and afraid, a sentiment Clint’s own expression is currently copying. Besides that, Clint also looks impressed. 

“Nice job, Freckles,” he says, wrapping an arm around a silent Bruce’s shoulders. The blush that immediately makes its way around Bruce’s ears is some kind of impressive, though that doesn’t mean Clint notices it. Clint never really notices anything to his own benefit, a sad reality of being friends with the American. The boy is too thick for his own good - which immediately becomes a euphemism in Bucky’s head. It’s luck that the laughter looks like more at Tony’s expense, and the older Ravenclaw glares at him for it. Bucky laughs again. 

“You’re such - such an ass basket, Barnes.” The insult breaks with giggles and heaving breaths, disturbing the absolute murder in Tony’s eyes. It doesn’t seem to matter that Clint is laughing at him as well, nor that Bruce is still chuckling in his quiet way. With Bucky’s distraction, he doesn’t know Steve is also there and laughing until the Slytherin is wrapped around his back, shaking against him. Bucky can feel himself short circuit and, to his best ability, doesn’t let it show on his face. The eye contact Clint is trying to initiate with him says that it shows anyway, because of course it does. 

“And what’s happened to Tony?” Steve asks, hooking his chin over Bucky’s shoulder. The familiarity not just between himself and Steve, but between their entire group of friends, rolls over Bucky like a wave. What Steve’s doing right now, what Clint is doing right now, the displays of affection, they should be weird - it never is, with their friends. 

“Bruce here cheering charmed him. Isn’t he charming?” Clint jokes, eye rolls all around. It’s just the kind of shitty joke to bring Natasha out of the woodwork, as she materialises out of the corridor just as soon as Clint says it. Well, or she comes in because she’s reached her destination - Bucky likes his theory better. 

“Shut up, Clinton,” Tasha says without preamble, walking past them to sit down on the common room’s biggest couch. Bucky had forgotten they could go sit down, and frog-walks Steve over to one of the big arm chairs to push him into it. The Ravenclaw common room features a great many chairs perfect for a reading nook, as well as large couches and working desks. It looks both similar and nothing like the Hufflepuff and Slytherin common rooms Bucky is typically more familiar with. 

Pushing Steve down into the chair, Bucky climbs onto the armrest with his school regulated plain black shoes in Steve’s lap. It’s completely unnecessary with the aforementioned magnitude of seating in the common room, but it’s the amount of  _ little shit  _ Bucky is used to being. The action is punctuated by Tony’s strained giggling, but that’s probably more cheering charm than thinking Bucky’s funny. 

“You know, you could sit in your own seat, jerk,” Steve tells him, but puts a hand on Bucky’s calf and makes no move to remove him. Bucky settles in and sticks his tongue out at the Head Boy. 

“But I’d  _ miss  _ you, punk,” Bucky replies in a whining voice, settling in even deeper. Natasha laughs her quiet laugh from the couch, realising the joke of it - it’s a jab at Tony, who had once said that if Bucky and Steve get more than four feet apart, they would have separation anxiety. At the time, Bucky had climbed into Steve’s lap, in the Great Hall, and said in a saccharine sweet voice that Tony was right, calling Steve  _ Stevie  _ in a voice that made it sound like more than just a childhood nickname. Clint still cringes openly when anybody brings it up, having been sitting on Steve’s other side at the time. 

“You’re gross,” Clint comments from the couch. Bucky hasn’t been paying attention, but now Clint is sitting between Natasha and Bruce, the first of which has laid her legs across his lap and the second of which has a hand carding through Clint’s hair where the archer is leaning against Bruce’s chest. Steve, with a wryness that only comes from dealing with these people for years, raises a single eyebrow. 

“We’re gross?” is all he says, but Clint and Bruce both go red around the ears anyway. It makes Clint’s yellow skin pink, but turns Bruce’s darker skin truly red, a charming look for the Ravenclaw. Bucky obstinately does not laugh. Clint does not reply. 

“Everyone here is gross. Even you, Brucey-bear. You have wronged me,” Tony says, and the cheering charm seems to have slowly worn off, unfortunately. Every once in a while, Tony giggles like a hiccup, but it’s no longer the laughing fit from before. Bucky doubts he can convince Bruce to do it again, and Bucky himself is much more for Defense or Transfiguration than Charms, regrettably. Bruce, right now, seems completely unconcerned with whatever Tony is thinking of him, focussing on his hand in Clint’s hair. 

“Did you die, though?” Natasha says, deadpan, into the relative silence. Every single one of them cracks up, even Tony himself, until all of them are laughing at a shitty meme at one in the afternoon on a Thursday. This, if nothing else, describes their friend group, even if all of them aren’t in attending. The day passes like it always does, and Bucky settles deeper into Steve’s lap, resting his head on his shoulder before he has to go back into the school and go to class all over again.

The next day, it’s only Friday of the first week of school, but Bucky can feel Tony shaking the entire couch as they discuss the final planned details of the party happening next Saturday (he says  _ planned  _ because nothing ever goes exactly to plan with their friends). He supposes he shouldn’t feel like it’s  _ only  _ Friday about a party happening a week from tomorrow, but time isn’t real. Nothing about deadlines ever feels real to Bucky until a couple of hours before it’s due, a trait that has always caused Steve great stress on his behalf. Bucky just can’t be bothered. 

“I’m freaking out. How are you not freaking out? I’m freaking out,” Tony is anxious to the point of repetition, though with the amount Tony usually talks, it’s not surprising he talks more under stress. Bucky reigns in his own angrily anxious response - the anxiety of others triggers his own anxiety and he gets angry and makes others anxious and it’s a vicious cycle really. Instead, Bucky tries to formulate a constructive answer, an answer that will maybe calm some of his friend’s nerves. Coming up empty, Bucky goes for something else. 

“Why are you freaking out so much? The party in general or just specific shit?” he asks, hoping maybe dissecting the problem will help Tony out. Tony’s the study-studious type, even if he was banned from the library. Last year, Loki had bet Tony that the Ravenclaw could not make an explosive out of just the materials he had on hand. In his inability to let anything go at all, Tony not only made a small bomb, but subsequently set it off to assure his victory. Madame Pince, even in her old age, heard the explosion and, once discovering the source, banned Tony from the library for the rest of his Hogwarts career. 

“Just the party in general - why would I be anxious about anything specific, why would you even say that?” Tony questions, too quick. His voice is threading in and out in too high of a pitch to too low, fast and ridden with stress that Tony isn’t hiding well. Bucky’s really not the person to be doing this - he doesn’t comfort well, he doesn’t work with Tony well, he’s not good for calming anyone down. He’s the number one aggravator of Tony Stark, and is only in competition for the position with one Clint Barton (and, in his sneaky Slytherin way, Steven Grant Rogers). 

“So, something specific. Thing or person?” Bucky continues his line of questioning, digging in his heels now that he has  _ something  _ to go on. His inquisitive mind is almost as  _ in this  _ as his matchmaking nature is, the urge to root around until he finds something of value rising in the back of his mind. 

“Not, not something specific. I’m fine, Barnes, stay in your little emotionless wheelhouse, would you? If I was anxious about something specific, it would have to be a thing right? Not that I’m anxious about anything specific in the first place - it’s really just the party in general. But, if I was, it would be a thing. Only people at the party are our friends and they’re just our friends,” Tony explains, fast-paced and anxiety-ridden. Bucky could crack guesses at what’s going on, but he thinks it might be better for Tony to say it out loud. He feels like it would chase Tony away even faster if he were to make guesses anyway - the Ravenclaw would deny any and all claims immediately. 

“Person. Who?” he baits. Tony’s face twists into something bitter and not okay, and Bucky’s  _ sorry _ , but he can’t stop doing this. It’s not in his own chosen interests to lay off of his friend, but, for a moment, he wishes it could be. 

“Nothing specific is making me anxious, Barnes. I’m fucking fine, the party is going to be fucking fine, Steve is going to like it, Coulson is going to like it,  _ Loki _ is going to like it, everyone is going to like it and it’s going to fine, fuck you, Barnes,” Tony rushes, clipped tone complete with obvious irritation. Bucky fights himself again on snapping back and instead looks at the problem in a manner he pretends is completely calm. Tony’s emphasis on Loki’s name isn’t hard to figure out, but Bucky doesn’t want to push him too hard at once. 

“You’re worried about it not being good for - for them?” Bucky asks instead of what he wants to ask, because it’s close enough. Tony laughs, but it’s not his usual full, booming and barking laughter, just some copy soaked in bitterness and anxiety. As much as Bucky tries, he can’t help but relate it to how Bucky himself acted just after the accident - he tries now to eradicate the pain of the memory from how he feels in this moment, but something tell him that he can’t and he won’t. 

“Isn’t that what I’m always worried about, Mister President?” Tony says wryly, the laughter not quite leaving his voice and instead turning it sour. Pepper or Steve or Loki himself (anyone who is better with the Stark heir, better with emotions,  _ better _ ) would be more suited to this conversation, and all Bucky has to work with is his own temperance. 

“Can you cut the bitterness? We’re all worried about each other all the time, don’t make me worry about you, Stark. We’re not here to contribute to your inferiority complex. We’re here because we like you. That includes Steve and Coulson and  _ Loki _ ,” Bucky snaps, taking the last part good and slow so that maybe Tony will understand logic that isn’t flawed with what his father thinks of him. Tony rises off the couch quick and angry, and Bucky knows that he should have held his temper. 

“Don’t talk to  _ me  _ about an inferiority complex, Barnes,” Tony hisses, and then he’s gone.

“That went well,” Bucky says to the empty room, attempting to ignore Tony’s words making a resting place of his chest. He leaves and goes about the rest of his day, crashing and not waking up until half past nine in the morning. He sits down in the common room rather than going to breakfast, just waiting for one of his friends to find him. He’s not disappointed when Steve arrives only a few minutes later, crawling into the Hufflepuff common room. 

“What’s up with Tony?” Steve asks, settling into the seat on the couch beside Bucky and grabbing his sketch book out of his bag. It’s barely ten in the morning, but Steve already has charcoal on the hinge of his jaw, likely from touching his face after smearing a section of shading. Bucky is minimally familiar with the terminology for Steve’s favourite hobby, organised in the folders in his head directly related to his best friend. He’s only just barely outside of his own head enough to stop one of Steve’s drawing pencils from sliding off of the table with a lazy motion of a hand. Steve notices and smiles gratefully. 

“What do you mean? What’s up with Tony?” Bucky turns the question back to Steve. He knows that even if Tony is anxious about the party - about Loki - he won’t want Bucky to ruin the surprise still. He’d probably be really pissed. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, asshole, I know how your face works,” Steve answers, raising a single eyebrow in return. Bucky is a weak, weak man when it comes to Steve Rogers, and he admits it when Steve is making faces like that and generally looking good and - he has charcoal on his face. Bucky is weak. As well as the weakness, a feeling of being  _ known  _ sits on Bucky’s shoulders like a warm blanket, comforting and relaxing and the kind of old that only makes it have more value. 

“I think I pushed him too hard on the Loki thing,” Bucky provides, not an explanation, but mostly because he doesn’t actually want to talk about it at all. He still has latent anxiety about pissing Tony off at all - he’s bad for being bothersome and bad for being nosy and bad for meddling and he just… he feels bad. He feels like a bad person. 

“How so?” Steve asks, his eyebrow raising again, this time with an edge of curiosity rather than being full of doubt. He’s beautiful and Bucky feels sick to his stomach, desperate for a distraction from this conversation and, frankly, a little ready for death. 

“I made him actually think about it. I can’t give context or quotes, scouts honor and all that, but I pushed him too hard and now he’s pissed at me. Big surprise,” Bucky replies, his mouth pulling into what he knows is an unattractive sort of sneer, but he can’t help it. He shouldn’t have pushed Tony, he shouldn’t be doing this, he should have left well enough alone, he should mind his own business, he’s going to ruin everything. The feelings of anxiety and uselessness are a ball in his chest, crawling and clawing its way up his throat, completely uncaring of the gouges it leaves behind. 

“What’s with the bitterness, Buck?” is the answering question, a mirror of his own words in the conversation with Tony from yesterday. 

“Sorry, Stevie. I just… I’m starting to see risks in this already, you know? This is worse meddling than we’ve ever done and it’s to most of our friends. Was this a bad idea?” Bucky is rambling with anxiety, unusual to him before the accident. Steve’s arm is wrapped around his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him by the time the last sentence is making its way out of his mouth, but Bucky still doesn’t feel safe. With Steve touching him, he feels a little bit of the anxiety stirring his stomach settle, but it doesn’t stop the clawing in his throat nor his rushing mind. 

“Even if it doesn’t work out, it was well intended. Our friends are understanding people, Bucky,” Steve attempts to soothe him verbally as well, but when he gets like this, Bucky is sure he’ll never be better again. He’s counting to try to lull his own anxieties himself, tapping the fingers of his left hand against Steve’s thigh; he doesn’t even realise it’s his left hand touching Steve until a moment after it happens, and for once, he doesn’t immediately want to tear it away. He feels a little better. 

“Are you sure? Because I think Tasha might actually kill me for this,” Bucky laughs it off like it’s a joke but it hits him exactly how serious he is when he says that. Natasha Romanoff does not like for her life to be meddled with, especially the portions she can manipulate herself - her romantic life would be included in that, he’s sure. Self-soothing like a child, Bucky turns both more into himself and coincidentally closer to Steve, putting his head on his best friend’s shoulder with little care. 

“Maybe we should go for something straightforward with her,” Steve suggests, his voice still placating and calm. Bucky can feel the rumbling of it against his temple on Steve’s collarbone. 

“I don’t think she’d go for something -” Bucky starts, collecting his good mood off of the floor, but is interrupted. 

“You’re about to make a straight joke and I  _ will not  _ stand for it,” Steve says quickly, hand clasping Bucky’s right shoulder tightly. The laughter at the back of his voice is enough to pull Bucky’s lips into a smile, enough to take some of the tension out of his shoulders. Steve is looking at him and Bucky feels like he’s both on top of the world and at the precipice of falling. He saw something online once - something about being in love and feeling on top of the world and  _ isn’t that such a long way to fall _ . Bucky relates. 

“But Stevie -” Bucky laughs, and the eye contact with Steve is killing him slowly and he doesn’t really mind it - what a way to go. 

“No,” Steve says simply, still laughing with him and still holding eye contact and  _ oh my god _ . 

“But none of our friends are straight! This is comedy gold,” Bucky says, tone joking and light, and breaks the eye contact himself to look at Steve’s forgotten sketch book on his lap. He has thoughts, he’s sure of it, but he can’t process them before Steve speaks again. 

“Shut up, you big nerd,” Steve replies and takes his arm from Bucky’s shoulders to shove at the left one enough to jostle him. 

“Punk.”

“Jerk.” 

The familiarity feels both light and heavy, and Bucky’s chest hurts in a way entirely different from anxiety. 


	2. Chapter 2

Janet Van Dyne is an extraordinary creature that deserves more than what she thinks and definitely more than what she is currently getting. Bucky is, of course, already privy to this knowledge, but is reminded well enough by an angry Janet Van Dyne and a brilliantly livid Hank Pym. It’s not even eight in the morning and yet the two are already seething, though Janet is at least attempting to calm both her own anger and the anger of her long-time best friend. Hank, to his credit or discredit, as Bucky is not yet informed on the issue, does not seem to be losing steam, nor does he seem to be willing to do so any time soon. 

“What’s going on?” Wade asks from some ways down the table, his voice in a stage whisper easily heard by any one of their friends, should they be paying attention. Bucky and Steve both look on in confusion while Clint seems to be uncaringly falling asleep into his eggs, Bruce occasionally poking at him to keep him awake. Natasha and Darcy have disappeared to the library for last minute co-studying for Darcy’s test in Charms, which happens to be Natasha’s best subject. It seems like no one is going to answer until T’Challa clears his throat. 

“It appears our Miss Van Dyne was… propositioned by a Slytherin in our year to do something… unsuitable to her good character - in front of Hank,” T’Challa explains in his slow, deep voice, calm where the rest of them are growing angrier by the second. Clint’s head snaps up from where it is lolling and he seems to be suddenly pulled to sharp awareness, anger showing plainly in his features. As the resident “Dad friend,” it’s well within Clint’s titleship and job to be mildly homicidal toward other teenage boys. 

“What  _ exactly  _ did this jerk-off say to you, Jan? Who was it?” he asks, already out for blood. Bruce has a placating hand on Clint’s overturned wrist, his long fingers creating a loose circle in a false attempt at holding the archer back. What Bucky knows about Bruce says that he wouldn’t hold Clint back at all, he would let his friend tear someone apart. Bruce, as much as he’s kind and placating and peaceful, has as much of a protective streak as the rest of them, as well as his nearly uncontrollable temper. The only one Bucky has ever known to mollify an angry Bruce Banner has been Clint - what a coincidence, that. 

“David fucking Cannon asked me to suck his dick. It’s not the fucking first time, but Hank won’t hear it,” Janet spits, and it’s immediately obvious what she’s actually mad about. Janet, in her long history as one of their friends, has never taken well to Hank’s overprotective nature, nor Clint’s, nor Bucky’s, or frankly anyone else’s. They’re all protective over each other, but Janet will not have it. She’s small, she’s kind, she’s always two steps ahead of everyone around her but - Bucky understands why she won’t let them protect her. Remembering his own time with their friends - the cautious hands, the careful words, the angry defense - right after the accident, he understands well enough. 

“That’s not fucking okay, Jan!” Hank exclaims from her side, standing too close to be casual and too far away for him to really be comfortable. Bucky knows how close he wants to be, but that’s none of his business (not yet - he wants to fix Clint and Bruce or Tony and Loki first, he hasn’t decided). Hank seems to have his own system of control for dealing with exactly how close he would like to be with his best friend, and it seems to be working for him, if not for Bucky’s own agenda. 

“Dave Cannon, right? Ooh, I can totally black-bag him and take him down to that closet on Slytherin corridor if you want, Jan. You could do whatever you want, no one would know,” Wade offers in a voice much too excited for the task he’s nearly begging to complete, but not uncommon to his usual nature. Janet also has a history of not minding so much when Wade offers to take up for her - Bucky has theories that it might be the moral ambiguity, the quiet, and the allowing her to help that pulls Janet in - and Bucky kind of hopes she’ll take him up on it. 

“Don’t have to. I got it,” Logan arrives from the corridor just in time to make a dramatic entrance, throwing a Slytherin tie onto the table. “I came up on ya’ll when he was saying that dumb shit - figured you may have wanted any revenge taken quietly,” he continues gruffly, and then points to the tie, “A souvenir. I may have choked him with it a little. Intimidation. He deserved worse than I gave ‘im.” Some of the anger melts out of Hank’s shoulders and then Jan’s - she laughs. Protection, coming from Logan, feels more like a mission come to completion than a favour, than a person feeling bad for another person. Bucky knows the feeling. 

“Thanks, Logan,” she says, picking up the tie and tangling it between her fingers almost immediately. Bucky’s glad - for Logan’s sake more than his own - that Janet isn’t pissed. Bucky isn’t sure that even Logan could hold her off, or even that he’d want to. Instead of sitting down and staying to talk, Logan is still standing, and salutes her before walking off without another word. Sometimes, it seems like Logan honestly doesn’t know how to speak to most of them, but no one really minds. Perhaps it’s a thing with him, only speaking to people who aren’t Xavier or Anna Marie or Kurt Wagner for more than moments at a time. Despite living with him, Bucky can’t really be sure of how Logan acts. 

“Happy?” Janet asks, cutting eyes at Hank. Her smile is both conspiratorial and challenging, and Hank rises to it with a grin of his own. The mutual vivid anger of only moments ago seems like a distant memory with them; hot and cold doesn’t even begin to cover what they are, it seems. 

“Kinda,” he replies honestly, and she laughs again. He pretends not to look at her like she’s his entire world, but Bucky sees it anyway; Hank always seems to be on the wrong side of subtle. Steve nudges his shoulder nonchalantly, and Bucky knows he saw it too - they might have to move up the schedule on those two. 

Later, as the day winds down and Bucky is just starting to feel a little chill, Loki looks nine different kinds of cross with Bucky as he storms into the Hufflepuff common room, but that could very well be directed at Steve or Clint or Thor or even Janet - Bucky has a hunch it’s him though. The hunch is confirmed with a finger in his direction, and then by Loki’s own words. 

“James, I would like to speak with you alone, please,” the sixth year says, voice more polite and put together than the obvious rage his expression speaks of. Clint takes his legs off Bucky’s lap and Steve his arm from around Bucky’s shoulder, both of them with eyebrows raised and the latter with a small amount of concern creasing his brows. Bucky pats Steve’s leg once in reassurance before rising from his seat. He gestures towards the door for Loki to lead him wherever, but the Slytherin leads him up to his very own bedroom. 

“So, what are we -” Bucky starts, but is cut off by a raised hand that doesn’t fall until the door is closed firmly behind them. Loki turns to him with a quickness Bucky usually likens to an angry Natasha Romanoff, but doesn’t seem out of place on an angry Loki Odinson either. 

“ _ What exactly did you say to Anthony? _ ” Loki hisses, his wand (though Bucky doesn’t know when he grabbed it from his robes) trained on Bucky. It’s easy to see the anger on his face, but Bucky has always been one to look deeper; he sees the sleeplessness beneath the Slytherin’s eyes, the desperation in the lock of his jaw. Loki is tired of whatever is going on with Tony - as if Bucky doesn’t know, as if Bucky didn’t fuck this up with his own two hands - and he’s taking it out cleanly on Bucky. He could have, you know, confronted Tony about this problem or whatever, but no one they’re friends with seems to like to do things directly (as if Bucky has any room to talk about doing things indirectly). 

“I didn’t say anything he didn’t need to hear, Loki,” Bucky says, his voice abundantly more level than he feels. The anxiety resting squarely beneath his temples since the - he isn’t sure if he can even call it a fight -  _ thing  _ with Tony is roaring over him like a wave waiting to crash, but he tries to hold it back (tries to hold back the ocean with his own two hands). 

“Well, take it back. You know nothing of what he needs to hear, Barnes,” the cracked whip of Loki’s voice is piercing, and Bucky swallows. He shouldn’t be scared of a sixth year, but he’s already anxious and he feels like he’s  _ falling, falling, falling _ . Bucky won’t say anything, won’t say that he’s anxious and that Loki’s already going too far, because Loki won’t stop and besides he - Bucky deserves this. He’s meddling and invading privacy and - he deserves this. 

“I don’t know if I can take it back, Loki. I’ll try to get Steve to talk to him,” Bucky offers, last leg, because Steve knows Tony better. Steve thinks he’s so shitty at knowing their friends, but Bucky obviously knows  _ nothing  _ and he’s fucking it up. Loki’s right, of course he’s right, Bucky knows  _ nothing _ . 

“I hope, for your sake, that Steven does well to solve this,” Loki replies lowly, slamming out of the room shortly thereafter. Bucky isn’t sure how long he’s been standing there, frozen against the wall, before Steve comes into the room. He’s quiet, like he knows that Bucky is feeling the sea break against him. Steve’s hands are on his face, he’s speaking, whispering maybe, but Bucky has no idea what he’s saying. Someone else is speaking too - maybe it’s him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he can hear someone saying, and he and Steve are the only ones in the room, so it must be him. Bucky is sure he’s the one speaking, but he can’t feel his own lips moving, his own face, can’t - he can’t do anything. He can’t stop speaking, can’t move, Steve is hugging him now, Steve is speaking, Bucky doesn’t know what he’s saying  - the sound of his voice is nice. Steve is definitely whispering and Bucky tries to quiet himself to hear but - he can’t make himself stop. He’s so sorry. He’s never been so sorry, this was the worst idea, he should have just let his friends live, he shouldn’t be meddling at all. 

“It’s okay, Buck. You’re not doing anything wrong. You don’t have to be sorry,” Steve’s telling him now, Bucky can kind of understand him, his voice is so nice. Bucky lets his face rest against Steve’s neck, hiding the tear tracks he knows, somehow, could be found there. It muffles the sound of his own apologies as well. He might stay here forever. 

“Buck, are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?” Steve is asking, but Bucky doesn’t feel like answering. He doesn’t want to go to the hospital wing either, so he shakes his head when Steve asks again, softer and against the shell of his ear. 

“Do you want to go to bed?” Steve asks now, and bed sounds so nice - he wants Steve to stay and he wants to go to sleep. Steve carries him over to his bed and puts him down lightly, like he’s a thousand delicate things just dressed like a teenage boy, and Bucky hasn’t felt so small since he was in first year. Steve tries to take his hand away, tries to leave, and Bucky feels panic wash over him all over again. He grabs Steve’s hand. 

“Stay,” Bucky says simply, voice hoarse and quiet, yet still startlingly loud in the silence of the dorm room. “Stay,” he repeats, tugging on Steve’s arm, and Steve nods agreeingly and climbs into to bed with Bucky for the second time in as many weeks, pulling him close. As much as he wishes he was a calm person who didn’t need their best friend to climb into bed with them to calm them down, Bucky isn’t, and he won’t be, and that’s… that can be okay. Steve doesn’t seem to mind and Bucky can already feel his erratic heartbeat calming to a steady legato. This can be okay. He can be okay. He falls asleep and presumably so does Steve, because Bucky doesn’t have nightmares that night. 

Steve goes and assumably talks to Tony in the morning and comes back to Bucky’s room before Bucky wakes up; the Hufflepuff only knows because he wakes with the resettling of Steve’s arm over his stomach, the newness of his warmth evidence enough of the length of his absence. He feels safe waking for the first time since the accident and he wants to somehow curl into Steve without communicating that he’s awake. Steve stretches over him anyway, so he doesn’t have to worry about wanting to move ever closer to his best friend’s skin. He feels the vibrations from Steve’s chest to Bucky’s own back when the Slytherin begins to speak. 

“You awake, Buck?” he asks, quiet enough that it wouldn’t have woken Bucky if he hadn’t been, but loud enough for him to hear because he is. Bucky puts his own hand on top of Steve’s on his hip, just this edge of too intimate, before replying. Just this edge of too intimate might be the ultimate descriptor of their relationship since they were five years old. 

“Is anyone  _ really  _ awake?” Bucky asks in place of an answer. Existentialist questions are a part of the humour that comes supremely from the combination of Steve and Bruce in the absence of people who will make relentless fun of them (so usually when only Clint and Bucky are with them - Tony and Nat or anyone else really would flay them, but Bucky and Clint are lovestruck garbage). Steve’s chest shakes behind him, assumably with quietened laughter, but Bucky even can’t hear the sound that should come with it. The absence of noise strikes Bucky more than the presence of it would have, which kind of makes him think. 

It occurs to Bucky, suddenly, that his roommates might still very well be asleep; Steve had closed the curtains of Bucky’s bed when he climbed back in, so Bucky can’t even be sure that daylight has come. He hasn’t heard the stirrings of Wade (who does nearly nothing quietly and exactly nothing silently), but he had thought his friend was just already off to breakfast. It could be very early indeed. Steve’s hand squeezes his hip for a moment and moves to his stomach, hauling him a little closer, speaking almost directly into his left ear. 

“Stay woke,” Steve says, too close for comfort or for the context of the joke, and then he curls away, laughing actually out loud this time around (Bucky ignores the fact that he missed the sound before). Bucky is laughing as well - even though it was a stupid joke - and both of them are laughing and neither of them are  _ moving, _ just two bros cuddled up together and laughing, it’s totally platonic, definitely. The stirring in Bucky’s chest is entirely platonic and he definitely doesn’t feel like he’s going to spontaneously combust at any moment if anyone so much as looks at him wrong. 

“Why were you up, anyway?” Bucky eventually asks, his hand coming back over Steve’s comfortably.  _ Why  _ are they so comfortable? They’re so comfortable being close and Bucky knows how teenage boys can normally be about this kind of intimacy, but it’s never like that for him and Steve. Why are they always so comfortable? If they were normal best friends, and not tactile and codependent assholes, they would probably get uncomfortable. Unfortunately for Bucky - or maybe fortunately, if one is a cackling Natasha Romanoff - they are the kind of friends that share beds and climb into each other’s laps. Steve Rogers is going to kill him one day, he thinks. It’ll be an accident, but it will still kill him dead. 

“Talking to Tony. He’s gonna get his shit together, I think,” Steve says into the nape of his neck, confirming what Bucky had kind of assumed. He’s so  _ warm _ , Bucky can’t help but think - he remembers Steve being cold and shivering and small when they were younger. He remembers coiling tight around his best friend in hospital beds and speaking low so the nurses wouldn’t kick him out for keeping Stevie up. He remembers being the one protecting and keeping Steve warm, and he could kick himself for how far he’s fallen. 

“Language,” Bucky replies, a beat too late, but Steve still thumps him in the stomach in retribution anyway. Steve tries to actually act like a prefect to the group of them  _ once, _ and it’s the homegrown inhouse meme for the next two and a half years, thus far. Bucky barely remembers who cursed or what they said - he thinks it must have been Tony and  _ shit  _ or  _ fuck _ \- but Steve had replied with a pseudo-stern  _ Language  _ and one more thing to tease him about had been born. Steve still blushes about it to this day, hot with anger and embarrassment. 

“Jerk,” Steve mumbles into the back of his neck, somehow pulling him in tighter in his petulance. Everything is warm and Bucky feels warm and safe and somehow wrong and he wants to launch out of his bed but - Bucky is a weak, weak boy. He’s always been weak to his best friend and that isn’t going to suddenly change now, he’s not going to suddenly grow a spine or fall out of love with Steve and… he usually doesn’t let himself think those words and now he’s totally off track. When he inevitably tries to get up, tries to open the curtain and clear the air, Steve pulls him back in.

“Stay. Go back to sleep, Buck,” the blond says, quiet and calming, as he pulls Bucky back into laying docilely against him. Bucky’s not sure how he ever thought he was going to leave, and settles back against his best friend’s chest. He’s practically cuddling with the best friend he’s definitely in love with, and he might spontaneously combust, but he might get the best sleep he’s had this year. (No homo though. Despite the fact that they’re both out LGBT individuals. Definitely no homo.) Bucky gets up later and doesn’t think about it, goes about his day as usual until the dramatics of his friends take everything over again.

“This is going to fucking kill me,” Clint announces as he slams onto the couch next to Bucky. Bucky almost feels as if all he does outside of class these days is sit on couches in common rooms and wait to be someone’s listening ear. It’s not all that bad of a place and role to be in. 

“Oh, hey Clint. I’m good, how are you? Oh, so you have a problem? Tell good ol’ Bucky about it,” Bucky replies with a shit-eating grin, totally earning the glare Clint sends his way. There are bags beneath Clint’s eyes again, which makes Bucky almost want to be serious, but he knows Clint won’t open up at all if he tries to worry about him. And besides, Bucky Barnes isn’t a worrier in the first place - he’s an anti-worrier! He thinks worrying is dumb and he totally never does it, would never worry, that’s totally Clint or Steve’s job, Bucky would never worry. 

“Okay, asshole. Hey,” Clint grumbles, thumping Bucky’s arm (the right one because Clint, Bucky knows, has heard the nightmares). “This thing with Bruce, the thing where I like him and he doesn’t like me, yeah, it’s going to kill me. I’ve seen him shirtless before, but apparently his foster family went on vacation to Nevada in America this summer to see the Grand Canyon and Vegas and shit, and  _ Bruce got a tattoo _ . It’s a quote near his right hip and it’s going to kill me, Bucky. I’m going to die and it’s going to the fault of that fucking tattoo,” Clint continues, curling into a ball of anxious teenage boy both on the couch and kind of in Bucky’s lap. 

“What’s it say?” Bucky says nonchalantly, just patting Clint on the back in sympathy - he knows how badly he would freak out if Stevie got a tattoo, after all. He’d probably lose his mind in no small fashion, much like one Clinton Francis Barton is doing right now, in Bucky’s goddamn lap. But, it doesn’t matter that Clint is in Bucky’s lap and it kind of freaks him out, because Clint needs moral support and it wouldn’t have bothered Bucky if it wasn’t so sudden. So, he breathes, thinks through it. 

“Find what you love and let it kill you. That Bukowski quote we talked about last year, he actually got it on his fucking body - his  _ body, his hips, Bucky _ . I’m ready for death, Barnes, like God take me now, I gotta go, I’m ready for death,” Clint is ranting and Bucky is calming down, his shoulders coming down from ‘round his ears and he’s fine. It’s just Clint freaking out, harmless, it’s just one of his best friends telling him their problems, it’s just calm. It is nothing to lose his close-kept cool about, nothing to lose his mind about, Bucky is totally fine and calm. 

“Wait - Bruce is sixteen. How’d he get a tattoo anyway? Don’t you have to be eighteen for Muggle tattoos in America?” Bucky asks, curious of the circumstances. As far as Bucky is privy to knowing, the legal age for tattoos would be eighteen, as far as Muggles go, and it should be the same for America. He wouldn’t put it past Bruce to procure a fake ID of some sort, but it doesn’t really seem to be his vibe. Clint is shaking his head, seeming to have needed a moment to respond to what Bucky said (which is fine, because Bucky’s only ever half paying attention anyway these days). 

“In most states in America, you have to be eighteen for it, but Nevada is different. And, can we talk about the fact that he was five states away and he didn’t feel the need to tell me? Honestly what the fuck is that about? In my home country and doesn’t tell me until after the fact. What the fuck kind of white nonsense - oh wait you’re white. Sorry not sorry, still nonsense,” Clint stops himself at that point, though Bucky knows from experience that he would like to say more. He’s never offended by the term ‘white nonsense’ - Clint, Bruce, T’Challa, Ororo, Janet, Tony and Hank (despite the last being white himself) throw it around enough that he’s used to it. 

“You know it’s okay, anyway - that is nonsense. Is that why you’re so… impacted by Bruce’s tattoo? Or does that have more to do with your already previously discussed obsession with Bruce’s hips anyway?” Bucky teases, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. Clint shoves at him even though his angle is bad, so Bucky feints at pushing his punk ass directly off of the couch. The brief flash of panic in the American’s eyes is amusing enough that Bucky kind of wants to do it again, but the surprise factor would be totally gone. 

“Shut up, Barnes,” Clint says after a beat too long, his voice muffled with his head pressed against Bucky’s side. Bucky puts a hand on his head sympathetically, stroking his fingers through his hair in an almost vacant fashion. It’s a familiar position, given that himself and Clint have been friends for enough years that both of their crushes had put them exactly like this before (Steve and Bruce know not the havoc they have wreaked, honestly). A thought occurs to him. 

“What did you even say, when he showed you?” Bucky asks, and Clint groans anew, trying to hide his face harder into Bucky’s abdomen. 

“I didn’t fucking say anything, Barnes, I just fucking ran out. I’m the  _ worst _ , this crush is  _ cancelled _ , I wanna go  _ home.  _ I wanna be on the farm right now, the United Kingdom is killing me, gotta blast, oh my god,” Clint whines, still not moving his face to speak clearly. Bucky only really catches most of it because he’s familiar with the sound of Clint’s muffled voice, not because of any particularly great articulation. Sympathetic (having been in the same boat for several years), Bucky puts his hand back in Clint’s hair. 

The next morning, Bucky has quite a few observations to make. The most subtle quasi-couple their friends have to offer has always been Pepper and Phil, if only because they’re both so efficient with putting themselves down lightly. Knowing both of them for as long as he has, Bucky can see Phil pulling his hand back, Pepper frowning for a nanosecond while he does, both of them smiling amicably after a split second. Maybe it isn’t a matter of knowing them well enough, but catching them at the right moments, fractured at the breakfast table. Bucky can’t pretend to be the expert on either of them - Tony and Phil are the experts on Pepper and probably Pepper and Jane on Coulson (Pepper may actually be the expert on everyone) - but they have been friends for a long time. 

It’s been long enough that Bucky remembers when people still called Pepper “Virginia” and Phil “Lola.” Clint and Natasha had virtually become bodyguards for the new trans kid in first year when they had just been second years themselves. Bucky followed shortly thereafter and Steve certainly tried. All of their friends kind of closed ranks around Phil after a while - even when he stopped preferring Phil (he’s wanted them to call him Coulson since his fourth year, and Bucky always does out loud, can’t always force himself to in his head for some reason). Pepper never calls him Coulson out loud, but it doesn’t seem to matter if she does it. 

No one ever mistakes Phil’s pronouns anymore, though. There had been some cursing incidents in their early years, and no one dares make a mistake for one of theirs, or really any trans person at Hogwarts anymore. 

“Good morning, friends!” Thor’s voice booms in the quiet of the morning, but no one (of their friends) really minds the noise. The positive nature of his voice makes the sunshine brighter, the day better, the impending and unavoidable eventuality of death less frightening. It’s important to know that the last part is an exact quote from one Anthony Edward Stark, though it’s less important to know that there was firewhiskey (and regular whiskey) involved. Bucky smiles up at Thor from his usual seat leaning against Steve’s shoulder, waving at both Thor and, behind him, Jane. 

“Good morning, Thor,” Steve replies in a quieter, yet still as good natured tone. Steve’s voice is warm in that  _ I love my shitty friends  _ way he sometimes has when he’s exasperated with them - it’s warm to the touch in the early morning light, and Bucky finds himself leaning more into Steve’s shoulder. Steve's arm winds around his shoulders, and really, God, they should not be so comfortable. 

“Good morning, all,” Clint says as he arrives, more or less slamming into the seat between Bruce and Natasha with reckless abandon. He’s got more of a mind for coffee than for controlling exactly where his limbs (and the rest of his body) go, first thing in the morning. One side of Bruce’s mouth quirks into a smile, but he doesn’t say anything with Clint pressed against him from, presumably, thigh to shoulder. Bucky also does not comment, but he knows that Bruce knows Bucky wants to by the Ravenclaw’s near immediate change in expression, smirk going to wispy smile. He still doesn’t move away from where he and Clint are touching though, so Bucky doesn’t count the shit his face does as a full on fuck up just yet. 

“Good morning Thor, Clint, Jane,” Pepper greets from her seat between Coulson and Tony, smiling briefly at each of them. Bucky considers her efficiency, even in making each of them feel cared for, both a gift from God and, honestly, a terrifying force of nature. Phil, in his quiet way, seems to find it mostly the first one, if his soft smile is anything to go by - not that Bucky is paying that much attention. Paying a little too much attention is just part of the gig right now, he shouldn’t feel so creepy and weird about it. 

“Good morning, Pepper,” Jane replies, sharing one of their private girl-smiles as she takes her usual seat next to Thor. The private smiles are something Bucky has grown fond of by sheer experience - it’s something Jane and Pepper and occasionally Darcy or Janet engage in, usually after a compliment or a greeting, and Bucky has observed them enough to know they only happen between the girls. He likes knowing these little things about his friends - he feels trusted with information, even if they don’t always know he knows. 

“Yeah, yeah, good morning everyone,” Tony says grouchily. Tony is emphatically  _ not  _ a morning person - as a not-morning person, Bucky can relate, though he’s had time to get ready from waking up early all summer (spending most of summer with Steve, that fucking early-bird). Bucky knows that Tony will be in a better mood in general once Saturday is over (another three days of angst, it’s only Wednesday). Despite the party being his idea, the Ravenclaw has been anxious about it since the plan began in the first place. The two of them had opted for a party rather than embarrassing them - for Tony’s anxiety more than anything else. 

“Tone it down, Tony,” Pepper admonishes, and though she doesn’t laugh at her own pun, those who are awake enough to do so. Tony huffs and pouts like he’s seven years old instead of seventeen, turning to Pepper with his bottom lip sticking out. Nonchalantly, she flicks him in the forehead, quite like he is a dog. Several members of the table, just as surprised as Tony obviously is, crack into laughter all over again. Even Bucky himself is smirking, pressing his face into Steve’s chest, which is moving with quiet chuckling. A feeling of safety washes over Bucky’s shoulders. 

Pepper’s funny and nice to him, and she deserves to be happy - she deserves the world. She organises their shenanigans patiently and she cares about all of them and  - she deserves to be happy. Coulson has been through so much and deserves everything he wants and - Bucky wants to make him happy too. He needs to move them up on the schedule as well. 

A few days pass, and he’s still done nothing. The party is tomorrow, and Bucky is just now feeling the anxiety settle beneath his breastbone, trying to press outward and unto the natural world. He clamps down on it in his mind, and his hands curl into fists on the outside, enough that Steve and Natasha on either side are unwrapping his fingers like they’re pretty parcel paper they’re scared of ripping. He goes willingly calm and placid, not willing to risk hurting either of them nor willing to admit there might be something wrong. Steve, for once, doesn’t ask, and Natasha goes with her usual commitment of never asking anything at all. 

“I spy with my little eye something… green,” Natasha distracts them after a moment, her voice obviously indicating her boredom. Seeing as they’re in the Slytherin common room after dinner, the  _ green _ descriptor isn’t very helpful. Tony, from another couch, hums as if he’s genuinely trying to puzzle it out, tapping his chin and looking around the room. Clint, from his perch between Natasha’s end of the couch and the chair he moved so Bruce could sit close to the rest, plays along as well, pretending to look from Natasha’s perspective. Bucky and Steve are barely playing along at all, just letting glances sweep across the room and mostly paying mind to each other rather than the game.

“The fire in the mantle?” Bruce offers, sounding like more of another question than an answer. Natasha simply shakes her head, and the others look farther with heads a little lower, taking true interest in the children's game. A wrong answer may have dampened their spirits some, but it kept the round going longer, a more fun way to play. 

“That couch?” Clint asks after another moment, leaning closer to Bruce to point at the couch Tony’s sitting on. Natasha has to tilt her head to look at it between Clint and Bruce, which kind of makes it a hopeless cause anyway (that’s exactly what Natasha is like though, taking the most complicated option, so Bucky doesn’t blame Clint for trying). Looking at Clint head on again, Natasha shakes her head. Bucky wonders, with a vagueness that means that the possible issue doesn’t have his whole attention, if she ever worries about losing her best friend to the inevitability of his feelings for one Bruce Banner.

“Nope,” she answers, and smiles at her own cleverness. Bucky casts the worry into a hole with everything else, to be thought about or forgotten at a later date. 

“Loki’s mug?” offers Steve, and Bucky can feel the vibration through his hand. Steve never let go of his hand - he hadn’t realised. Bucky doesn’t take his own hand away now, squeezing lightly and hoping that Steve either doesn’t notice or doesn’t say anything. If he  _ does  _ notice, he doesn’t say anything at all. Loki looks shocked to have been mentioned at all, before he pulls it back into his usual resting bitch face sneer. Natasha shakes her head again, smirking now over Bucky’s head at Steve, who Bucky can’t see. It’s a strange thing, to be directed at one person now where it was general before. 

“Loki’s tie?” Bucky himself posits after a moment of contemplation, looking to where Loki is sitting in the floor in front of Tony’s couch. Loki again looks shocked, though that could have as much to do with mentioning him as it does with Bucky talking to or about him at all (Bucky has been avoiding Loki, more out of fear than anger, since their confrontation in his dorm, and he’s sure he hasn’t been all that subtle). Tony reaches down to pat Loki on the head, and Bucky feels a pang in his chest; he’s really glad that all of that worked out. Steve squeezes his hand and Bucky says nothing. 

“Close,” Natasha replies, nodding once. She must see Steve’s hand still holding Bucky’s, but she never says anything about things of that nature. Something about her always makes Bucky think of both school teachers and sharp knives, cursing lowly and cutting close in the same moment, the same thought. She’s the best friend he has that isn’t Steve, and he’s the best friend she has that isn’t Clint (or, presumably, Darcy), but sometimes she reminds him so much of the country his mother left behind that he has to suck in the air through his teeth. He doesn’t like to think about it, especially not surrounded by friends, so he pushes it away with a breath through his nose. 

“Steve’s tie?” Bucky asks before anyone can say anything, his cleverness coming to his aid with the coming tide of his thoughtlessness. Pretending to be okay helps him to be okay sometimes; he’s always been good at faking it til he makes it. That’s basically his entire life since the accident, after all. 

“Physically, closer.” 

“Your own tie?” he guesses, raising a single eyebrow at her. He can see the laughter in her eyes before she speaks, and he knows he’s right without the sound of her voice. 

“And the man in the yellow tie gets it. Your turn, Barnes,” she laughs, her own quiet chuckling thing. He rarely hears her laugh in a real, wholehearted way, and he feels like if he heard it just a little bit more, he would miss it now. He misses when all of them were smaller, less guarded and more free with each other and everything else, just free. He misses her laughter twinkling across the room as he lay with her and Clint and Steve beneath the lake, in the Slytherin common room. Her amusement still fills his aching chest with a fiery warmth - James Buchanan Barnes loves his friends with his whole being. 

“I spy with my little eye something…” he has to think for a moment, pick out an object, “black.” The room, as he experiences it (just their friends, always, the world shrinks to them), groans around him. It’s almost as difficult as green, and Bucky smirks the Natasha Romanoff smirk and waits for their guesses. This day passes too, uneventful and pleasing with the lack thereof. 

The party is today and in this moment, Bucky isn’t quite sure how lungs work and he would like a guide, please and thank you. He hasn’t even made his way out of the bathroom yet and he’s already freaking out because he’s a goddamn trainwreck and God, why couldn’t Tony ask literally anybody else to help him with this? He could have asked Clint, local friendly dad friend, or Bruce, his Muggle Studies loving science bro, or whatever, or like literally anyone else. Anyone would have been a better alternative to Bucky, who’s having an anxiety attack in his own bathroom, and he knocked the soap off of the edge of the sink, because he’s a mess. A knock comes on the bathroom door, and he can pretty much figure it’s Clint. 

“You okay in there, buddy? I heard something fall?” Clint’s voice rings through the door, and, yeah, Bucky was right, so that’s nice. What’s not nice is that, no, he is not okay in here, Clinton, are you okay out there? No, because no one who Bucky’s friends with is  _ ever _ fucking okay, they all need a therapist and a nap, but  _ this is fine _ . But Bucky’s not going to say that, because that’s more suspicious that just saying no, but he can’t not say anything at all or Clint will definitely  _ alohomora  _ the fucking door and who has time for that? In fact, Bucky really needs to say something before, like, exactly that happens. 

“I’m fine, Clint. It’s cool. I’m cool,” Bucky says, because that’s not fucking suspicious, Barnes, Jesus fucking Christ. He’s so  _ unwell _ , he needs to get his shit together, and he just heard Clint  _ alohomora _ the door. Clint comes in with his hands up, attempting to look non-threatening, but when Bucky can see more of Clint’s arms, Clint is actually  _ more  _ intimidating. It helps that he doesn’t usually find Clint intimidating at all, but, like, the American boy is an archer, it’s not like his arms are  _ non-threatening  _ in nature. “I’m fine, Clint,” Bucky repeats, forcing a smile onto his face - he hopes it looks less brittle than it feels. 

“No offense, but you don’t look fine, Buck-a-boo,” Clint replies, brows furrowed in concern even as he uses another ridiculous nickname. Bucky guesses he understands the confusion; without context, there’s no reason to be anxious on some random Saturday morning. Meanwhile, they’re celebrating Steve’s birthday (Clint’s too, he reminds himself) today and Bucky is  _ totally  _ going to fuck it up in some way, shape or form. Like, it’s an inevitability at this point. He kind of fucks everything it up, if he thinks about it for too long, so he doesn’t and he pushes it away like he does with all of his problems, and he’s going to fuck himself up one of these days, doing something just like this, he thinks. He pushes that away too and proves his own point. 

“Wow, thanks, Dad.” Bucky tries to keep his voice amused and sarcastic and totally composed (he ignores his own failures in this vein). Being called  _ Dad  _ always brings a sort of confusion to Clint’s eyes, but never a  _ bad  _ confusion. Just something between  _ Why are my friends like this? _ And  _ Why is this normal for me? _ Bucky relates - makes sense, being as they have the same shitty friends. 

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, asshole. What’s got you anxious? Do I need to grab Steve?” Clint asks two questions in succession, and Bucky knows it’s so he can choose which one (if not both) he wants to answer, but right now it stresses him out. That isn’t really different from literally everything else that’s impacting his thinking right now, but that’s not really relevant, is it? And God, the idea of Clint grabbing Steve makes the air choke itself out of Bucky’s lungs, so he shakes his head and hopes for the best. Clint walks forward slowly, catching Bucky’s right shoulder in his hand, his best efforts at limiting exactly how much anxiety he causes with his own two hands. Bucky’s unfortunately familiar with the delicate nature of his friends tiptoeing around him. 

“No getting Steve? So is it about Steve?” Clint is switching to yes or no questions, another tactic of anxiety limitation, and comfort wraps about Bucky’s shoulders like a cloak. Bucky doesn’t want to be honest, but he has to, the earnest look in Clint’s eyes forcing him to nod his head. Clint hums, but doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t ask or try to make him talk, because Clint always understands. Clint gets anxious about Bruce sometimes and has had anxiety about every single one of their friends at least once, so Bucky lets the ease of similarity wash into the silence of the lapse in conversation. 

“You can’t tell anybody or Tony will kill me, okay?” Bucky asks to make sure. Clint raises an eyebrow but then nods without asking, letting him continue without any real interruption. “We’re throwing a party for Thor and Loki and Steve and Phil and lowkey also you, all the kids that have birthdays during the holidays, winter and summer, and it’s today. I feel like… I’m gonna fuck it up, Clint. I’m totally gonna fuck it up,” Bucky levels out his breathing, calms himself like he knows he’s supposed to - he focuses on Clint’s breathing and makes a copy, maybe, but it calms him down well enough. 

“Okay, so - I’m not gonna say you’re not gonna fuck it up, Barnes, because you might just punch me, but like - it’ll be okay if you do? We’ve all been friends since, like, Let There Be Light or whatever the Christians say, but if you fuck it up, it’ll all be good. We’re friends, nobody is gonna be mad at you if you get nervous and stay in Steve’s lap all day,” Clint replies, and the callout was totally unnecessary, but Bucky feels calmer. He nods with a slowness he usually uses to lessen the sloshing of his brain in the event of headaches, but it helps now too. Clint smiles and Bucky feels better, less anxious, like an actual person instead of a shell. “You good, Barnes?” Clint asks, pulling Bucky down a little so he has to look him in the eye. 

“I’m good,” he replies, letting go of another slow breath. 

“Then let’s go to a party.” 

The beginning of the party goes off without a hitch, an extravagant, beatific thing that one might naturally associate with Anthony Edward Stark, and one would be entirely right. If one does not associate such an event with James Buchanan Barnes, a ratty former Quidditch player with his hair tied back and a lazy grin, well that is not one’s own fault. That is the image James Barnes has crafted and one he’s working on being proud of. He hasn’t felt anxious in like twenty minutes (about an hour after the party began), and he’s almost on top of the world. 

In reality, he’s on top of Steve’s lap, exactly where Clint said he would be, but he isn’t embarrassed or jaded. Steve is wearing a birthday crown and Bucky is wearing Steve’s arm around his shoulder and there’s a general air of pleased pleasantness. Even Natasha and Loki are smiling, Natasha with her legs in Darcy’s lap and Loki with his head in Tony’s lap, birthday crown sitting on his stomach. There may or mayn’t be a bottle of firewhiskey being passed around the short list of party-goers, but Bucky, whom does not partake in such ventures, surely wouldn’t know. The Room of Requirement offers him soft yellow lighting that makes him feel sleepy, settled into Steve as he is, but Bucky is totally awake.

“This is a great party, Buck,” Steve whispers into his ear suddenly, and Bucky is definitely awake. It’s still soft and warm, but he’s present and engaged in whatever Steve might say, leaning in close and placing his forehead on Steve’s collarbone. Despite his current engagement, Bucky notices Phil with his crown in his hands as to not let it fall leaning in to say something quiet to Pepper, a secret kept between them. He’s glad that he’s not the only one getting soft with his best friend right now (he ignores the fact that both he and Coulson himself have feelings for their best friends and normalises the warmth climbing up his chest). 

“I’m glad you think so, Stevie,” Bucky says, his nose tucked into the low v-neck of Steve’s casual shirt. Steve smells like Irish Spring, which Bucky used to associate with old men until Steve started using it when they were fourteen. Now, it just smells like home - he almost wants to say something mean to get rid of the sappiness of that thought. It seems like he can’t escape his own infatuation for more than a moment before it takes over and makes him into a mess all over again. It’s gross. Emotions are disgusting and he wants  _ none _ . 

“You did real good, Bucky,” Steve whispers even lower than before, and Bucky has to pretend praise whispered low doesn’t totally fuck him up. He kind of wants to cry and kiss Steve at the same time, but instead just presses his face closer into Steve’s neck, hiding the blush he knows is crawling up from his own neck. 

“Okay, let’s act like true teenagers at a party, kids. Truth or dare?” Tony offers, wiggling his eyebrows at the lot of them. Loki, head still in Tony’s lap, sits up, but still leans on the Ravenclaw, too close to really be all that casual. Tony gets a small smile on his face before wiping it away to fall back into the suggestive smirk he was wearing before. Bucky picks his head up from Steve’s collarbone to pay attention better - no one ever really says yes to these kind of games, just participates when called upon. It’s a given that everyone wants to play, knowing the friends they’ve cultivated. 

“Okay, Sparky, truth or dare?” Tony asks, and everyone knows he’s talking about Thor, sitting across the little circle with a birthday crown holding onto his head for dear life. The nickname came about in the same day of the incident that got Tony banned from the library, but that’s a story for another day. The story, of course, also involves Loki and some particularly bad timing of Madame Pince, though that could be construed as bad timing on Tony’s part or even on the timing of the Odinson brothers. All of these points that had been debated with shameless vigor, the very nature of their strange amalgamation of people. 

“Dare,” Thor provides predictably, also allowing a shitty grin of his own; Thor is the only one of them to never use a ‘Chicken’ in his entire Hogwarts career. Loki grins and then leans upward to whisper in Tony’s ear, a display of intimacy Bucky raises his eyebrows at.  _ Tony  _ is blushing, an oddity most of them don’t see very often, but of course, no one comments. When did they all get soft on one another? 

“I dare you to steal the Sorting Hat,” Tony says, point blank without a change in expression, and now everyone in the circle has raised eyebrows and dropped jaws. Except, of course, Loki Odinson and Tony Stark, the first with a shit eating grin and the second with a challenger’s smile. Thor recomposes himself and stands, obviously up for taking the challenge. Jane, whom had been sitting by his side for the entire evening, grabs his wrist. 

“He uses his first Chicken,” she announces, causing Thor to turn fully back to her with furrowed brows. “Be damned if you’re getting expelled in seventh year,” she says, stubborn expression settled in her face. Thor concedes easily, sitting back down beside his girlfriend. 

“My lady Jane is right. This endeavor would likely result in my immediate expulsion, an event I cannot allow to pass. I shall have to say no to such a dare,” Thor says calmly to the circle, making particularly long eye contact with his little brother. Loki’s grin is still shit-eating, having made Thor actually chicken out. Such an achievement must make him really fucking proud of himself, Bucky thinks. Steve squeezes his knee. He had forgotten Steve’s hand was there in the first place. 

“Okay. Still your turn, buddy, pass or not,” Natasha reminds Thor eventually, throwing him a proverbial bone. 

“This should be fun,” Steve whispers in Bucky’s ear. Bucky hums his agreement, tucking closer to Steve’s chest. He doesn’t notice when he falls asleep, but he does notice being carried up to bed. He doesn’t mention it the next morning, nor any day thereafter. 

“I will bet you ten fucking galleons that Barton fucking blows this and Loki catches the snitch in less than two hours and wins,” Tony’s been shittalking with Janet for maybe the past ten minutes, sitting in the Quidditch stands before the match. Bucky has only been able to go to Quidditch games again since halfway through last year, being as he would no longer let himself be afraid of the field after the accident. Janet snorts at whatever Tony’s said now, despite it being a vote for her own team, but Bucky’s eyes are too busy flicking between Clint and Steve flying so far above the ground to pay much attention; he works to choke his own anxiety out as it climbs up his throat. Rumlow and Pierce graduated last year and year before last respectively, no one would be using a Confundus charm to knock Bucky’s friends out of the sky. 

It’s a long distance to look, but Bucky could swear he catches Steve’s eye after only a minute of looking at just him. He looks down at his own lap blushing, whether it really happened or didn’t; he hates getting caught staring, even if it’s just by Steve. Darcy is leaning back against Bucky’s knees, resting her head casually on his thigh. The comfort of having at least a few of his friends close (Darcy against his knees, Janet behind him, Bruce silent and calculating on his right, the twins settled in and excited for the game beside Darcy) is enough to settle his fastly beating heart. The game is Hufflepuff versus Slytherin, and Bucky has too many friends up there to actually calm down entirely. 

Steve is captain of the Slytherin team, accompanied by Loki, Natasha, Becca and the rest of their team (Bucky has stopped learning their names). Clint is captain of Hufflepuff and followed by Logan, Sam, Katie Bishop and the rest of their team (if Bucky tried to learn the rest of the Hufflepuff team without being able to be a part of them anymore, he would probably cry in public, and gross). Bucky remembers when Kate made the team earlier this year, the excited giggling nature of Clint for the entire afternoon and night, because he didn’t have to cut her, she was actually good enough. She’s only a fourth year. Bucky only knows her by association, but he’s fond of her all the same. 

“You okay, Barnes?” Darcy asks, quiet enough to avoid attracting the attention of any of the friends (and not friends) around them. He has always liked how sneaky Darcy can be, and he cracks a smile in response before generating a coherent reply. She smiles back and doesn’t seem to need one, nodding up at him before turning back around and leaning back onto his knees. When did all of them start being so soft on each other? He wonders this again, and still has nothing that could even be misconstrued as a straight answer. He’s never been good at straight things though. 

“The game is starting!” Wanda says excitedly when the players line up against each other, Clint and Steve moving to shake hands. Bucky wonders, in a vague way, if perhaps he would have been captain if he could still be on the team this year. He squashes it down immediately to be happy for Clint, throwing it away with the rest of his ambitions. Steve’s the Slytherin after all, the one of them that’s doing something with his life and rising up like steam. Bucky tries not to think about being left behind. 

“Alright, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals - a little Thomas Sanders reference for you kids - it’s Slytherin versus Hufflepuff today, as you guys should know, and I’m not saying you should be rooting for anyone in particular, but your wonderful commentator is a Hufflepuff, need I remind you,” Wade says in his usual quick way over the Quidditch loud speaker. Wade has been announcing the games since he was in third year, just the kind of excited they wanted for a commentator. The mouth on him, after a while, is something everyone has learned to deal with as well. Some, like Bucky, even appreciate it. Others would deeply like to punch Wade in the face (they don’t, knowing who his friends are). 

“Give it a good three, two, one and - the Quaffle is up! The game is on, kids, and Romanoff already has the Quaffle, passing to Captain Rogers, he passes back and -  _ intercepted by Captain Barton!  _ Hufflepuff has the Quaffle, that’s my team, guys!” Wade announces, the description vivid enough that if Bucky wasn’t already watching with a gaze more  _ Hawkeye  _ than his usual, he would still know exactly what was going on. Wade continues, but Bucky is paying less attention to him and more to the flying patterns of Steve, Clint and Natasha. It’s Janet’s hands on his shoulders that pull him back into the here and now in a visceral way, though he manages not to freak out. 

“Wow, jeez, you’re tense, Bucky-bear. The game getting to you?” Jan jokes, grinning directly down at him. Darcy gasps in front of him and reaches to grab his hands, placing them on her own shoulders without any input from him. He looks between the girl above him and the nonbinary person (Bucky remembers to switch between she/her and they/them at random, but sometimes it’s hard) below him, brows furrowed. “Massage train!” Janet explains animatedly, hands flexing on his shoulders in a light squeeze. He looks down at his own left hand on Darcy’s shoulder. 

“It’ll be fine, Barnesy, I know you won’t hurt me,” Darcy tries to assuage his worries with simple words, but he still feels anxiety deep in his chest. After the accident, Healers had augmented his hand with more strength than necessary, and he didn’t have all of his fine motor skills back. After shattering all of his metacarpals, he could only expect to get so much of the range of motion in his fingers. Darcy gives him a look both challenging and accepting, which pushes Bucky’s hands into motion more than anything else. 

“No fair!” Tony says from beside Janet when he notices. “I want in on a massage train,” he pouts, glaring over at the group of them. 

“Come sit in front of me, Starkling. Darcy’s got you,” Darcy coos over to him patronizingly, and Bucky can tell Tony’s pride is almost enough for him to stay right where he is. He moves anyway.

Steve is covered in sweat after the game and honestly it’s fucking disgusting, but Bucky doesn’t care because he hasn’t touched Steve in hours and Steve has been  _ flying _ . Flying used to be something they shared, but he just wants to tackle Steve right now. Steve comes out of the broom closet and a little away from the crowd and Bucky is on him, arms wrapped around his neck. Steve’s arms come naturally around his waist, and really, Bucky should care more about the sweat and the nastiness and the general Quidditch funk, but it just smells familiar and like Steve, like  _ home _ . 

“So proud of you, Stevie!” Bucky laments, grinning broadly against his sweat-soaked collarbone (it’s gross to be  _ that  _ close to it, but Bucky is in the practice of not giving a singular fuck). Tony had been unfortunately correct about his entire guess, unfortunate because no one had actually agreed to bet with him and he’s still put off, still complaining about it with the kind of repetition that can only be called petulant. If Bucky bothered to look around at this juncture, he would see Tony telling Loki he had bet on him, and the peacock preening he gets in return. However, all Bucky is focusing on is Steve’s thumb caressing the joint of Bucky’s hip in slow circles. “You did really good,” he continues to fill the silence, feeling a blush crawling up his throat - he presses in a little closer before letting go entirely. Well, not entirely - his hand rests on Steve’s forearm like an afterthought. 

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve ducks his head when he says it, embarrassed by the praise, and it makes Bucky want to praise him more. He always wants to praise Steve more, tell him he’s done well at every juncture (because he knows Steve won’t say it himself). Bucky doesn’t, of course, because making it weird is totally not in his best interest, but he wants to. He always wants to. 

“Party at Slytherin!” Clint yells at the top of his lungs, despite being the captain of the team that just lost. It’s not unusual, their friends announcing parties for other houses to host and everyone going with it despite the certain ability to fight them on it. The group of them has never worried about house divides and supposed rivalries, instead grouping together anyway and having their own parties if need be. They’ve done that before with particularly heinous games between Slytherin and Gryffindor, the latter of which could sometimes be particularly bitter about losing. 

“We did just have a party last weekend, did we not?” Steve says beneath his breath, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s shoulders to steer him to walk behind Clint anyway. Mention of the birthday party brings a blush high in Bucky’s cheeks, recalling staying in Steve’s lap and the tittering nervousness. He ducks his head and doesn’t respond, just grins over at Steve wordlessly; he nudges Steve in the chest with his shoulder instead. Out of spite, Steve reaches with the hand on Bucky’s shoulder down to his side, tickling him briefly before moving it back. 

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Bucky chuckles, knocking into Steve again (equally out of spite, of course). He tries not to think too hard about Steve’s smile and ultimately fails, though that’s not uncommon. He tries not to think about it and then his mind extrapolates on it, focuses too hard on just how good Steve looks when he’s smiling, how good he looks happy, how good he looks all the time. Bucky just fucks himself up. 

“We’re in public, Barnes, jeez,” Steve replies, eyebrows raised suggestively, and it still takes Bucky a moment to understand what he’s saying. Bucky blinks rapidly and feels another blush coming on, so he ducks his head and shoves at Steve again. Steve’s not saying - God, he is saying - he’s not usually so - Steve is a shithead, but he’s not usually so blatant about being so, usually going for a sneakier method. Winning makes him wired, Bucky thinks. 

“Shut up, oh my god,” he says, laughing. He’s trying really hard not to read into the fact that Steve actually sounds like he would be down for it; that’s a rabbit hole he needs not go down. Especially while Steve is Quidditch-sweaty and loose with laughter and lovely in the fading light and - Bucky is totally fucked. Like, he knew, intellectually, that he was totally fucked, but right now he is fucked so bad, and God, he’s in love with his best friend. It’s so gross. Steve’s laughing too and honestly Bucky is so dead and so fucked and so in love with his best friend and he needs to talk to Clint, he’s so fucked. Emotions are not his forte. 

“Make me,” Steve ducks lower to whisper, and Bucky may or mayn’t be breathing anymore. What is air? Bucky Barnes doesn’t know. Steve is being particularly… Bucky doesn’t want to say flirtatious and get his own hopes up, but if it looks like a duck and sounds like a duck - he shouldn’t get his own hopes up. Bucky settles his own traitorous heart quickly enough to act like a normal person, reply at a normal rate, shove at Steve and get it back together again, laugh even. Steve shoves back at him this time, a quick thing that wouldn’t have even moved Bucky if he wasn’t already so off kilter. 

“Punk,” Bucky calls him, his voice soft with affection and everything he doesn’t want to say out loud, can’t say aloud for fear of ruining everything. Steve makes the briefest of eye contact with him and Bucky feels his chest collapsing in on itself. His chest has felt as if it was going to collapse in on itself since around fourth year, so he’s not actually worried about the eventuality. He kind of wishes it would get the fuck on with it. This, of course, is nonsensical, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing really makes sense anymore anyway. 

“Jerk.” That makes sense. 

Bucky didn’t drink at the party, but he still wakes up feeling like he has a hangover and missing a body beside him. It takes him a few minutes to realise  _ why _ he feels there should be a body beside him, until he opens his eyes. The curtains around him are dark and green, drawn rather than opened wide, more Steve’s speed than his own. He likely should have realised he was in Steve’s bed sooner, being as it smells like his best friend and Steve has like thirty-seven pillows spread across the mattress. The Hogwarts dorm accommodations do not provide beds of a particular largeness, and yet Steve somehow crams enough pillows for eight or ten people into one bed. 

Steve must have already gotten up, what with how he usually functions - it’s only odd that he was considerate enough to not wake Bucky with his leaving. Bucky’s trying hard not to get anxious about both his absence and the care of making himself absent. In the past, Steve has been just as loud as he’d like to be while sharing a bed with Bucky, but this year he’s been quiet. The past few times, Bucky hasn’t questioned it, but he can’t stop his analytical mind in its tracks now. It must be about the nightmares, but Bucky wishes he could come to another conclusion. He doesn’t want the oddity to stem from himself. 

He gets out of Steve’s bed slowly, not wanting to slosh around the headache already forming behind his eyes. He forgets the names of half the guys Steve shares a room with - he knows one of them is Charles Xavier, and that’s tenuous - but none of them are in the room when he opens the curtain. Maybe all Slytherins are early risers, but he knows Loki lounges like a cat, so that can’t be exactly true. Maybe all Slytherin seventh years? Maybe he shouldn’t stereotype Slytherins at what feels like seven in the fucking morning - or at all. He casts a quick time charm and it’s ten o’clock, Christ, no wonder everyone is gone. 

“Fuck,” he curses beneath his breath, and wanders out of the dorm, softly closing the door behind him. He finds a group of his friends in the common room down the hall - Steve, Clint, Bruce, Wanda, Pietro, Vision and Wade. Immediately, he walks to Steve, sitting down beside him to lean against him, not saying a single word. 

“You alright, Barnes?” Clint questions softly. His voice is burnt out with worry, strained where it’s normally calm and joking, and Bucky feels a little guilt stir in his stomach. He knows all of his friends worry themselves sick about each other - him especially after the accident - but he’s glad for Steve’s silence and Steve’s hands in his hair. He’s glad worrywart Clint is the only one asking after him, that Steve and the rest aren’t making it weird. Steve’s hands in his hair are the only indication that Steve even knows he’s here. It’s calming. 

“Headache,” Bucky replies, equally quiet. He leans harder against Steve until the blond lifts his arm, letting Bucky fall into his lap. Steve smiles down at him and puts his hands back in Bucky’s hair. Bucky tries not to let happiness and contentment crawl up his trachea to choke him with Steve’s smile, but he’s familiar with losing to it. 

He doesn’t realise he’s basically purring until his friends are chuckling around him, and he feels himself flush a deep pink. When Bucky stops, Clint goes to full out laughing, a contagious thing that gets Bucky laughing despite the painful pulsing it causes behind his temples. Wanda’s laughing, so it doesn’t matter that Bucky’s in pain - she laughs so rarely, though more these days than when she first came from Durmstrang. Bucky can feel Steve’s laughter vibrating through his shoulder, familiar and warm, just as he can assume Bruce can feel Clint’s - it’s a pretty scene, and one Bucky would like to commit to memory. He takes the memories of the brief amnesia after the accident and shoves them down until he doesn’t feel so cold anymore. 

“Are you a cat,  _ zaika? _ ” Wanda asks, her voice more affection than curiosity, teasing than questioning. He’s so glad that she’s comfortable enough to do so that for a moment he doesn’t realise what she called him. 

“Did you just call me  _ a rabbit _ ?” Bucky accuses, and knows he’s right by Pietro’s burst of laughter. Bucky’s own grandmother called him that when he was boy, and still does sometimes when he calls later at night; she is always more lucid during the day. She doesn’t always remember that he’s nearly a man now, and drops all kinds of nicknames for little boys that make his mother howl with laughter. He would be mad, or perhaps embarrassed about it, but it’s one of the only times his mother doesn’t seem so sad about her own mother’s condition. 

“Yes,  _ zaika _ , I do believe my dear sister did,” Pietro continues the tease as Wanda recovers from turning red. It seems she hadn’t realised what she was saying at the time either, and Bucky is more likely to get angry at Pietro than her anyway. Wanda has to lean away from Vision to do so, but she swats at her twin brother, her other hand getting threateningly closer to her wand. Pietro, not to be challenged or back down from such event, reaches toward his own wand with a smirk. Bucky is glad for both Vision and Wade moving to quell the action of Wanda and Pietro respectively. 

“Wait, is that was  _ zaika  _ means? Red, you’ve called  _ me  _ that before. I couldn’t get Nat to tell me what it meant!” Clint exclaims, and it sets the rest of them to laughing once more. Wanda turns red again but Bucky knows she’s comfortable and everyone is glad of it, and no one is going to ask her to stop. They may all have gone soft for each other, but all of them most of all for Wanda. Bucky tucks his head into Steve and lets the softness of his friends, their laughter, wash over him like a tide. 

Monday, it’s been over a week since the birthday party, three days since the Quidditch party, and Bucky has come completely off of the latent anxiety from both. He’s totally fine, never been better, no latent anxiety for this Hufflepuff motherfucker, he’s totally not already getting anxious about Halloween almost a month away, it’s totally not only October something or other in the first week of the month. The Halloween Feast totally does not give him a source of anxiety to focus on, he would never do something like that. 

Bucky’s definitely anxious about the Halloween Feast (and the “Avengers” party that will inevitably come after it). Avengers is Tony and Janet’s most recent embarrassingly catchy name for their friends, one that Clint has already taken a liking to, which means it will be around til they graduate.  _ Only  _ until they graduate, if Bucky has any luck whatsoever (he’s usually completely good luck free these days, unfortunately). Bucky’s stuck in his own head, traitorous anxiety extrapolating on little things until he feels like he’s going to explode with it, until Wanda slams down beside him, feet in his lap. He remembers a more delicate Wanda, so unlikely to even sit next to boys who weren’t her brother, and feels warmth in his chest. 

“What is wrong,  _ zaika _ ? You look troubled,” she asks, offering an ear as she always inevitably does. She and Bucky have become friends since her arrival last year, and he’s so fond of her that sometimes it hurts. Bucky is not the protective friend, he’s no Clint, nor is he Logan, nor Janet’s fierceness or Hank’s anger, not even the strong presence of Steve. He’s just Bucky, and he’s not used to wanting to wrap Wanda up in a blanket and keep her safe (nor the pride of her not thinking that’s a good idea anymore). 

“Anxiety,” he says simply, honestly, because he doesn’t like lying to Wanda and isn’t focused enough to try as of current. She nods and leans forward to rest her head on his shoulder, folded to touch him as much as she can. She’s been given the crash course on anxiety that Clint and Steve conduct just like everyone else they’re friends with, and she knows that, if he allows her to touch him at all, she should touch him all she can, if she wants to do so. Bucky feels warm all over again, and he wonders if he’ll ever get over this anxiety thing. Maybe it’s not about getting over it, but he wants to. 

“What’s going on with you and Vision?” Bucky asks eventually, and Wanda sits up immediately. She’s blushing a dark red that compliments her dark brown eyes, and Bucky nearly laughs. She has to school it down until she can talk, cutting through her own embarrassment with a smirk. Bucky is almost scared of what she’s going to say in reply if she’s that proud of it, and he good to have been. 

“What’s going on with you and Steve?” she asks in return, a single eyebrow raised. Bucky clicks his tongue and feints at pushing her out of his lap - her answering shriek is worth the awkward nature of the question. He shouldn’t have asked in the first place - it’s not their kind of thing to talk about anyway. She calms down slowly, still laughing until suddenly she’s not, a serious kind of look on her face. Again, Bucky’s a little spooked. 

“Nothing is going on between myself and Vision. Nothing could be going on between us, I fear, he is - Vision is not interested in someone like me I think. I am - I am too much, I think. Or not enough. I do not know,  _ zaika _ ,” Wanda explains in her convoluted way, but Bucky boils it down relatively quickly - she’s scared. She leans forward again and Bucky puts a hand in her hair, even though it’s his left hand, and that usually feels gross and wrong. She doesn’t seem to notice at all, leaning up into the contact and sighing again. 

“I think you’re just enough for a person like Vis, and if you’re not, he’s a fucking dick and doesn’t deserve you,” Bucky says, imparting the last bit with a joking tone that might get her to laugh. It does, and he’s relieved, because he never wants to be the reason Wanda is sad. It’s like kicking puppies and saying no to his mom and getting mad at Steve all wrapped into one and he just feels like total garbage. 

“I don’t want him to have to deserve me, B. I just want him to want me,” she says, quiet and melancholic and too much. Bucky’s hand moves from her hair to rubbing down her back, and it hits him all at once that she’s only sixteen. She’s sixteen and doesn’t deserve to have to feel like this, and this is so shitty. 

“You want me to talk to him, or will that make it worse? Have you tried talking to Clint or ‘Tro about this?” he offers more than one question in the hopes that at least she’ll answer one, if not both of them. Maybe she’ll even answer one she’s comfortable with parting with the answer of, given she’s comfortable with either. 

“Pietro, he is - my brother is only a few minutes older than I, and yet so protective. Clint has only known me as long as you, and so protective too. I tell you about this with Vision because you will  _ ask  _ me if I would like you to speak with him - the answer so far being undecided - and you will not if I say no. They will not follow so well,” she explains, making little hand gestures in the small space between them. He’s glad she trusts him, even if it feels so foreign to be a trusted protector of a girl who’s sixteen and not his baby sister. 

“Whether or not I’ll talk to him is your call,  _ milochka _ , and of course I’ll go with it. I can understand the worries with Clint and Pietro, but you never have to worry about that with me. You could even tell me what to say, if you want. You know him better than me,” Bucky replies, dipping his head to look her in eye. She smiles again for the first time in a few minutes, and something in the range of Bucky’s chest relaxes. 

“Thank you,  _ zaika _ .” 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Halloween is in two weeks, but Bucky hasn’t even bothered to figure out what day of the week it’s going to be. He’s talked to Wanda about it a little, talked to Steve about it a little, nudged Clint about it a little, but none of them are particularly oriented towards planning, so none of them know the day. He could ask Tony, who surely knows the day because of his propensity towards party planning, or Pepper or Coulson with their organised inclinations, but he’s only so invested. He buried the anxiety a couple of days ago, taking the method of focusing on other things to be inevitably anxious about. 

Wanda hasn’t told him what to say to Vision, if she wants him to say anything at all, so Bucky is on his usual agenda of saying exactly nothing to the Ravenclaw. It’s not a silence of particular aggression, it’s only that Vis is more Tony and Wanda’s friend than his own, and they’re only friends by association. He wants to talk to Natasha about her thing with Darcy instead of thinking about Wanda and Vision, but Nat is a lot scarier than Wanda and Darcy is the same as Vision - Darcy is more Natasha’s, Jane’s, and Thor’s friend than Bucky’s really. It seems like he’s only got a major attachment to half of his friends. It would make him sad, but he’s obviously kept them close enough already. 

It’s Tony that sits heavily next to him today, already sighing and looking generally displeased with how his life is turning out, not a particularly unusual mood for their resident half-blood genius (so specific on what blood concentration of genius because Bruce is their Muggleborn genius and Vision their pureblood genius; so many geniuses). Instead of asking, Bucky waits him out, knowing in a general fashion how Tony works and such things. He really thought Steve would be more of a meddling force with Tony and Loki, but it seems everything falls to Bucky. It isn’t different from how things usually work between them, so he’s used to it  (that’s a joking and unfair assessment of Steve’s character, and it even stings in Bucky’s head). 

“Okay, I know I freaked out last time we talked about Loki, but I need to talk about Loki, and you apparently already know about my gross emotions,” Tony says suddenly. He couldn’t hold his silence for more than a minute, just like Bucky predicted. He gives a quick nod of his head instead of responding to Tony, figuring that the Ravenclaw may as well talk himself out before Bucky tires his social interaction abilities out trying to produce things to say. He’s easily emotionally exhausted these days, and self-care comes first - or something, that’s kind of what Steve said, if he recalls correctly. 

“Okay, so, as you know, I have gross emotional feelings about Loki, and I am not well, and he’s really good looking. Well, I don’t know if you think he’s really good looking - don’t tell me either way, I’d probably lose that fight - but he is and I’m so unwell. We’ve been alone more lately and bickering and talking more shit about other people than each other - half our relationship is talking shit - and I just… He’s pretty and mean to me, and that combination should not be such a turn on, and yet here I am. Help me out here, Barnes. Throw me a bone,” Tony rants and rambles and Bucky really could have dealt without hearing the words “turn on” come out of Tony’s mouth, but he’s totally fine. 

“Have you tried talking to Loki about literally any of this?” Bucky asks, but can guess the answer even before Tony’s aghast look. 

“And why in chicken fried fuck would I talk to  _ Loki  _ about this? I’m not even talking to Pepper about this Barnes, I’m talking to  _ you  _ because you already know too much.” Tony’s making hand gestures as he says this, and Bucky is already tired. He’s amused by Tony’s use of  _ chicken fried fuck _ , though - it’s an Americanism they’ve all picked up from Clint, but Bucky imagines Tony may have picked it up from  _ Bruce  _ instead. He prefers this option, so he mentally goes with it, even if it mayn’t be true in all reality. 

“Maybe, I don’t know, you would talk to  _ Loki  _ about it because he’s, oh, I don’t know,  _ directly fucking involved _ ?” Bucky replies, smiling in a falsely inviting way and about three seconds from straight up batting his eyelashes. Whatever it takes to drive the point. 

“Okay, wow, jeez Barnes, end call out culture. Any fucking way, I just wanted to  _ talk  _ about this, not, like, do anything about it or anything, so, like, don’t offer solutions, because I’m good. We graduate in a couple of months, so I don’t have to deal with my problems, right? Sounds right,” Tony talks too much, and it’s affecting Bucky now in a way that really isn’t fortunate for either of them; they’ll both have to deal with repercussions of Bucky’s mood, after all. Bucky doesn’t restrain himself from rolling his eyes, and Tony looks affronted (Bucky really doesn’t give a chicken fried fuck). 

“If I have to think about you and Loki and the words ‘turn on,’ you have to deal with your problems, Stark. I don’t make the rules. I don’t care if you  _ dealing with your problems  _ means asking out Loki on Valentine’s Day and going the whole nine yards, whatever it takes. Ask him to the Yule Ball,  _ something _ . I don’t care, but if I have to think about this, you have to do something about it,” Bucky exclaims in one large outburst, barely taking enough breath to sustain so many words. Tony is trying not to look surprised, but his eyes are about the size of dinner plates and Bucky is trying not to be proud of himself. 

“Okay, fine, fuck,” Tony says, blinking rapidly and getting out of his seat. 

Mission accomplished. Well, part of it. 

Tony’s version of dealing with his problems seems to involve nothing but sitting a little closer to Loki (unnoticeable with their previous codependent tendencies) and to stumble over his words awkwardly (only noticeable because - honestly - it’s Tony). Bucky and Steve are nudging shoulders and rolling eyes and being generally exasperated - not an unusual fanfare of dealing with Tony anyway - but Bucky is growing tired of the back and forth (even if the  _ discussion  _ or whatnot with Tony only happened day before yesterday). They’re all sat in a circle of sorts on the grounds, it’s a beautiful day outside, and Bucky is still irritated. 

“Okay, kids, explain the tension,” Clint interrupts, looking between Bucky, Tony, Loki and Steve. His eyebrows are in prime dad position, and all that’s missing is him peering over a set of reading glasses and saying  _ I’m not mad, just disappointed _ . 

“What tension, Dad? I don’t know what you mean,” Tony says in a faux casual manner, batting his eyelashes at Clint. It’s the first time he’s made the  _ Dad  _ joke without straight up calling Clint  _ Daddy _ , but Bucky is glad for the absence of the last two letters. The Daddy jokes make him super uncomfortable, and he knows they make Clint uncomfortable too (especially on such occasion that Katie is around to join in - she has an unfortunate history of taking it a tad too far). Clint’s eyebrows somehow climb ever higher, but he doesn’t say a word, just waiting them out if he can. 

“Tony doesn’t know how to deal with his problems and I’m not listening to that which I am apparently not even allowed to  _ attempt  _ to fix,” Bucky says simply, and Tony is hitting him with a glare before the sentence is half-done. Loki, though he may not understand what exactly is going on, also casts a glare in Bucky’s direction (he doesn’t want to admit the anxiety this action stirs in his chest). Shoving what latent anxiety he has down, Bucky keeps his eyes steadily on Tony, not allowing himself to be intimidated by either of his friends. 

“And Barnes can’t only do what is asked of him, he has to try and take the whole fucking mile when someone’s only trusted him with an inch,” Tony cuts back, scowl set deeply in his expression. Clint holds an open palm in both of their directions, placating, but it does nothing to quell the stirring irritation. Bucky doesn’t know why he wants to help his friends get together so fucking bad; they’re all so stubborn, it’s not like he’ll be  _ thanked  _ for his shitty efforts. Steve’s hand is resting on the inside of Bucky’s wrist - he’s not sure when it got there. 

“Okay, guys, maybe we all need to cool off. Distractions, Natasha?” Clint continues, delegating to his best friend. Natasha, historically, comes up with the strangest little games for them to play on the fly, usually involving more thought than physical effort. Bucky lets talking about it go, glancing away from Tony and towards Natasha, the Slytherin girl’s face screwed up in concentration. It only takes her a few more moments to speak. 

“Janet, would you rather never see the ocean again, or never stand in the rain again?” she asks. Janet is immediately obviously struck with a deep thought process about the question, and the tension is gone. Tony’s shoulders have come down from around his ears, Loki’s hand has come away from his wand, and both Bucky and Steve have relaxed back into each other. Bucky isn’t much for being angry at his friends, and he’s glad for the new absence of awkwardness. The silence is comforting for the next half minute that it lasts. 

“The ocean. I love the ocean so much, but I would miss the rain,” Janet finally answers, looking drained for having debated for so long. Protests arise from the group, but Natasha waves them down, gesturing for Janet to ask a question of someone. 

“Thor, would you rather go to Egypt or China?” she asks, pointing at the Gryffindor and laughing a little. The more even temperament of the group seems to have inspired giggliness in some of them, and even Bucky feels chuckles rolling in his chest. Thor only considers for a moment before providing an answer. 

“Being as I have already visited the great lands of Egypt, I do believe I would like to explore the cities and rural areas of China. It is a culture I am unfamiliar with, and I do believe I would learn a great many things.” Thor provides a thought out-answer, not unusual for him. “Captain Rogers, would you rather move to America or move to England?” Thor continues the game. 

“England. If I have to be somewhere that isn’t Ireland, at least Bucky’s in England,” Steve answers with an extreme quickness, and Bucky feels his face go red. Clint is looking at Bucky very directly, and Bucky is ignoring him and ignoring all of the Avengers and he kind of wants to crawl into a hole. Steve, seeming to have realised exactly what he said, at least has the decency to turn red as well, looking down at the ground beneath them. 

“Okay,” Natasha says, cutting the tension again, “you gonna ask somebody a question, Rogers?” 

“Yes. Wade, if you had to be trapped in a room with any of us, who would you choose?” Steve asks, looking to the Hufflepuff. Their games of would-you-rather are never so normal as to only involve would-you-rather questions, so Steve’s question isn’t really out of the norm. Still, Wade’s head snaps up from where he  _ was _ leaning against Pietro to try and see what he’s writing, and he has to look at Steve for a moment to comprehend what was said. 

“Oh. Pietro, here. He’s a good, you know?” Wade answers, wrapping a hand around Pietro’s shoulder. Pietro is a dark red that’s distracting from what just happened with Steve and Bucky, so Bucky is seeing exactly what Steve meant to do by asking Wade such a question. Wade, however, doesn’t seem to realise any oddity. “Darcy, Jean Grey or Kitty Pryde?” Wade turns to Darcy, wiggling his eyebrows to make his meaning obvious. 

“I’m partial to redheads, solid Jean Grey.” 

The afternoon passes with the fading light and fading anxiety, all of them free for the entire evening, giggling in a circle. Bucky washes in and out of focus like the tides, pressing his face into Steve and not really thinking all that much. They don’t have class until tomorrow, and he doesn’t have to be a person for at least another twelve hours. Steve helps him to dinner and then bed when the time comes, looking pleased as anything to get him to both places. Steve oftens looks pleased to help him, but Bucky files that away beneath  _ best friend things  _ and adamantly doesn’t slide it into romantic territories. He’s fine and relatively anxiety free until the next day, upon which it feels like he may have been hit by a truck without noticing the original impact. 

The floor, though it had seemed solid only moments ago, seems to be swaying beneath Bucky’s feet, like he is a sailor rather than a student only trying to make his way to class. Steve, as he’s privy to doing, catches Bucky’s arm as he begins to sway with the rhythm of floor, raising concerned eyebrows at him. He guides the (shaking, yellow, nervous) Hufflepuff to an alcove in the hallway, leaning him ever so carefully against the wall. Steve soon speaks, but it takes Bucky a moment to realise what is being said. 

“You with me, Buck?” Steve says, probably for the second or third time, and Bucky nods lacklusterly. Steve doesn’t seem to be taking this at face value, Bucky realises, and plays it up, pushing himself off of the wall. He tries to walk past Steve, but his best friend is bigger than him now, all broad shoulders and little hips that Bucky can envision putting his hands on and - woah, not the time. It’s nearly never the time and honestly, totally inappropriate, and really now, Bucky isn’t acting like he’s okay anymore. Everything feels like the first cold snap of October all over him, and he really needs to get to class, like right now. 

“Come on, Rogers, time for Potions, isn’t it?” Bucky asks, shouldering past Steve and definitely not even mentally lingering on the brief contact between them. Steve takes a moment before following after him, obviously wanting to say something, but Bucky’s brisk pace doesn’t allow for chitchat. That may or mayn’t be the point. 

“Did the two of you get lost?” Professor Fury says when they arrive, raising a singular eyebrow and looking down at them from his teaching stage. Neither Bucky nor Steve make eye contact, instead walking directly to their station; they are well aware of the rhetorical nature of the question, and how much more smoothly things should go if they just sit down. The only students Fury really likes are Coulson, Natasha, and strangely enough  _ Clint _ , but he must like Steve and Bucky some, because neither of them catch a detention for their tardiness. Perhaps Fury simply doesn’t want to deal with them more than he is required to. 

“Did the two of you get lost?” Clint parrots once they sit down behind their friends (Clint and Bruce sit together in Potions as well as on the regular), smiling at them in his wild way. Fury casts him a look from behind the podium and, rather than heeding the obvious warning of it, Clint salutes him. Because of the previously mentioned soft spot the Slytherin Head of House holds for one Clint Barton, Fury just rolls his eyes. 

“Get fucked, Barton,” Bucky tells him, rolling his eyes as well. Steve chuckles quietly before pulling out his Potions textbook, picking up Bucky’s bag to pull his out as well. Bucky raises an eyebrow at him when Steve shoves the book into his hands, but Steve doesn’t deign to answer - it’s fair, Bucky probably wouldn’t have pulled out his book anyway. 

“You know, for an ace spectrum person, I sure do get told to get fucked a lot, especially by my other ace spectrum friend,” Clint says this like he’s wondering aloud, but he’s made the same old joke enough times that Bucky’s familiar with it. The two demisexuals of their squad, and Clint’s got to be dramatic about it (not a big surprise, if he’s honest). Pulling a Muggle pencil (an implement used by most of the Avengers) out of his bag, Bucky throws it at the back of Clint’s head, hiding a smirk when the other Hufflepuff turns around. Clint levels him with a glare before turning around to work on his own potion, something he was probably instructed on before Bucky and Steve walked in. 

“What are we supposed to be doing?” Steve asks, tapping Bruce on the shoulder. Bruce, having been ignoring their entire conversation, startles when he turns to Steve, and then smiles as if this is the first time he’s realised they’ve arrived. Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if it realise is the first time he’s realised - between his books and Barton’s forearms, Bucky knows Bruce is quite distracted. 

“We’re doing a review from last year; Fury’s out of Veritaserum, and he figures at least one group of us can brew it correctly and make it worth it,” Bruce explains, reaching back to turn the pages in Steve’s book to somewhere in the two hundred range, pointing out the instructions. “Advice, though, crush the beans instead of cutting them; makes for a much better consistency overall,” Bruce suggests, pointing to step four. Always one for instructions, Steve jots it down in the book directly beneath the fourth step, noting that it was a suggestion from Bruce. Suggestions from Tony are always taken with a grain of salt while those from Bruce are taken at face value, Bucky knows. 

“He’s got us doing his dirty work, then?” Bucky asks with a grin, nudging Steve’s shoulder with his own. Steve nudges back before moving to copy down the ingredients for the potion, doubling everything for some reason. Maybe he wants to make enough for Fury to use for a while? Steve is a total good samaritan, and if he thinks it’ll get him into someone’s good graces, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s gone above and beyond. 

“I’m getting stuff for both of us, okay? Be back in a sec,” Steve says, and moves closer to Bucky for a moment before seeming to back out of whatever he meant to do. It looked for a moment like - Bucky doesn’t want to get his own hopes up - it almost looked like Steve was going to kiss him. But, Steve’s not into him (just because he’s bi doesn’t mean he’s into you, settle down, Barnes), and Bucky needs to not get his own hopes up. And, that would have been such a casual time to kiss him, like they’d done it a thousand times; Steve doesn’t know how to do casual. Bucky’s got his breathing to a normal level by the time Steve comes back. 

“Couldn’t even get out your shit while I was gone, Barnes? Guess I’ve gotta do everything around here,” Steve says. The thing is, Bucky’s mind decides without his consent, Steve doesn’t sound too put out about having to do everything. He’s all soft smiles and soft voice, he’s - Steve is in his  _ taking care of Bucky  _ mode, and it took Bucky this long to realise. God fucking damn it all, all of it, this whole school. Of course he is, it’s not like Bucky had a brief moment of panic in the hallway or anything, Jesus fuck. 

“Shut it, punk,” Bucky jokes, cuffing Steve around the shoulder. The least he can do is  _ act  _ normal, even if he’s got to have gross feelings and emotions about his best friend. Bucky ignores his feelings for the next hour or so, ducking back into his common room to  _ Grab my bag, Stevie, I’ll be there in a minute _ . It’s Wednesday, and he only has two more days to go until he can breathe in and out for more than six hours without a class or sleep. 

“Barnes, I do know I told you to mind yourself in the concerns of myself and Anthony, but I require your assistance. I do believe it is time for me to… apologise? That sounds correct. I apologise, James, if it means you will remedy the current situation I find myself in,” Loki comes to him on a Sunday, though Bucky is no longer sure what the date is with the anxiety thrumming beneath his temples. He can’t school the fear that finds him when he’s alone with Loki, even if the Scandinavian doesn’t deserve it; it was a one time thing that Bucky’s anxiety has grown unfortunately attached to, likely to spite them both. 

“Loki, I think you’re going to have to be more specific,” Bucky says instead of anything he’s thinking, pushing down the anxious ticking of his hands. Loki, while not being the most socially tactful person Bucky’s ever met, is bound to notice the nervousness sooner or later, but Bucky would rather push for later. He tries to ground himself in the dust on the ground, in the whistle of the wind coming through the window. Into the silence between them, Loki sighs, rolling his eyes at having to explain anything at all. 

“Anthony, while intelligent, seems to be rather dense. I need… advice, of sorts, on how to approach him with my intent,” Loki explains anyway, some nervousness crawling into his own voice. The emotion humanizes Loki enough for the latent anxiety to die down, and it’s one week til Halloween and things are simple again. He scans his raucous thoughts for solutions for Loki and comes up nearly empty, though he does have some thoughts he feels like jotting down for the Pepper and Coulson conundrum, as well as Natasha and Darcy. Natasha and Darcy should be rather easy, now that he considers them. 

God, this is just Tony and Loki; Bucky’s already emotionally committed himself to Clint and Bruce, Wanda and Vision, Pepper and Coulson, Janet and Hank, and, he hadn’t thought about it at the time, but Pietro and Wade as well. Six couples, not a one of them involving himself, and Bucky’s found himself taking care of all of them, of his own volition. And, even whilst he’s chosen this himself, they would all kill him if they knew he was meddling, and kill Steve for allowing such foolishness. Or, maybe, they would go soft on him like they have for the past two years. Anyone’s guess. An idea occurs to him. 

“If talking to him directly just isn’t an option, why don’t you just give him gifts? That’s as much as a  _ statement of intent  _ as anything, is it not? Like… courting gifts! They’re called courting gifts. You’re rich, you know him well, just buy him some stuff,” Bucky suggests, and Loki is nodding before he’s even done. When he imagines having the amount of money necessary for  _ buying things  _ to be a more appealing venue of confession than talking about your feelings, Bucky gets a little mad at like half of his friends. How do rich people exist? 

“I worry, however, that Tony is also of a certain… financial status. What am I to buy for an individual who is able to purchase or invent whatever he should like?” Loki asks, and it takes Bucky a moment to find an answer. Tony  _ is  _ rich as hell, and Bucky can see where that would inspire nerves about what to get someone like that. But, really, it’s not about  _ what  _ Loki gets him, it’s the  _ why  _ that Bucky is certain will make it matter something to Tony. Loki could buy him a fucking dish towel, and Bucky’s sure that if he said it was because he wanted to date him and shit, Tony would use it every single fucking day. 

“Don’t buy him things he would buy for himself. Buy him things that a person buys as  _ courting gifts _ , buy him an expensive necklace or a pin or a ring, or anything really. It’s just for your intent, it doesn’t have to be personal, just beautiful. Just, go for it, Loki,” Bucky says, gesturing a little at the end there, actually smiling at Loki for the first time in over a month. 

“I can surely attempt. Thank you, James,” Loki replies, smiling tightly in that way he does when he’s uncomfortable (Bucky usually associates it with Thor’s arm around his little brother’s shoulders). Bucky’s glad to have mended whatever tear there was in their relationship, glad to have settled the constantly building Loki-related anxiety brewing in him. He’s just happy they’re getting along again. 

“Anytime, Loki.” 

Nearly a week later, the corridor is quiet with the absence of students, a hush having fallen over even the most raucous of common rooms. Tomorrow is Halloween, a crisp Saturday, and the first Hogsmeade trip is the very same day, a spooky beginning to a year of Hogsmeade trips as a whole. Well, a hush had fallen over  _ most  _ of the raucous common rooms, but perhaps not the  _ most _ raucous. Because, down in the Hufflepuff common room where there is little supervision to be had, six of the Avengers could be found, or rather  _ heard _ . Bucky, Steve, Natasha, Darcy, Janet and Wade sit in a semicircle beneath the soft yellow lights of the sloping ceiling, laughing and playing games like children rather than almost adults. 

“I spy with my little eye something… red,” Darcy announces, only looking up at Natasha from her position in the Slytherin’s lap, rather than anyone else. It reminds Bucky of Clint in Bruce’s lap (and vice versa), him in Steve’s lap, Janet in Hank’s lap (and vice versa) - all of their friends seem to associate laying in someone’s lap with affection. That’s worth analysing, but Bucky doesn’t have the headspace for it right now; he might think about it later, but it’s a toss-up on whether he’ll ever think about it again at all. 

“My hair?” Natasha says with a saccharine smile, the kind of amused Bucky only associates with the soft way she gets around Darcy. Darcy gives a groan, false though it may be given with wideness of her smile, and nods up at her. Natasha’s smile slides into a grin and she puts her hand on Darcy’s beanie as if to ruffle her hair, unable to do so though she may be. The display reminds Bucky of what he means to do about the two of them, though he hates to interrupt Natasha looking so happy (she rarely looks so happy so openly). 

“Hey, Darce, are you free for the Hogsmeade trip tomorrow?” he asks, and three people cast him raised eyebrows and curious eyes. Janet and Wade aren’t particularly paying attention, playing their own game of truth or dare off to the side (they’re close, always willing to share, but also loving games and bets enough to make it into something). Steve, whom Bucky already has plans with tomorrow, just wonders what he’s up to, as well he assumes does Darcy, but Natasha looks vaguely threatening. He knows Natasha’s usual eyebrows from her angry eyebrows, and these eyebrows are coming for his throat.

“Yeah, I’m free, what’d you have in mind, Buck?” Darcy answers, ignoring or perhaps not noticing the murder in Natasha’s eyes. Darcy seems to be in the same boat as Clint, not noticing the things it would do her well to notice at all. 

“Are you free, Nat?” he asks, and Natasha relaxes in just the slightest; maybe she realises what he’s doing, but more likely she just thinks it’s a group outing. 

“Yes, why?” she answers with a question, very Natasha typical. 

“I’m not, enjoy your date,” he says, and pulls Steve out of his seat and to the hallway to the dorms before Natasha can actually kill him. Steve is giggling and falling into his back a little by the time they make it down the hall, shoving at him to open to the door quickly. Once they’re in, Steve is speaking. 

“That was clever as fuck,” Steve says, grinning in his charming way and crowding Bucky a little. As he struggles not to find what is happening attractive at all, a throat is cleared from across the room and both he and Steve jump, looking over to see Logan sitting on his bed, peering over at them. 

“I do  _ not  _ want to know,” Logan says emphatically, getting up and grabbing his signature leather jacket before approaching the door. “If y’all get up to anything, Barnes, put a fuckin’ sock on the door,” he commands, and then leaves quickly. Bucky realises the implications and blushes dark, sputtering for a moment and looking anywhere but Steve. Steve starts laughing and suddenly they both are. Bucky’s giggling hysterically, trying to push down the fact that his best friend is hot, and that they just got called out. Everything is just so - it’s so fucked up, he’s so fucked up, what even is his life, because it’s not like he’s ever known. He goes from laughing to hyperventilating so quickly these days. 

“Come on, Buck,” Steve is saying, hand splayed on Bucky’s bad shoulder, “breathe with me, now, babe, you can do it.” Bucky is trying to calm down and process, reigning in his panic, and did Steve just call him babe? Not important, breathing is important. It’s not like he just trapped Natasha Romanoff in a situation and then got called out by Logan Howlett or anything. When he’s actually breathing again, Bucky lets go of a short laugh. What the fuck is his life? Who the fuck is he, now? Jesus Christ. A silence falls after he’s breathing like a normal fucking person who doesn’t have an anxiety disorder. 

“Did you just call me babe?” he asks into the quiet, raising his eyebrows at Steve, who promptly turns a delightful pink. Bucky watches his jaw clench and his tongue roll across his teeth (all very masculine and attractive, he thinks), the edges of an awkward smile pulling at his lips. Steve’s jaw works as he tries to generate something to say, but it’s still less than ten seconds before he speaks. There’s just a lot to observe in his best friend, Bucky thinks, so many beautiful things going on in tandem. 

“Did it help?” Steve answers with a question rather than an answer, one Bucky doesn’t know the response to, something he is forced to think about. It takes him a minute, but Steve waits patiently, looking the picture of peace rather than moving to rush Bucky’s reply. 

“I think so, maybe, it was something to focus on,” he decides as he says it, and finds it to be true. 

“Then sure. Yeah, I did. That okay?” Steve uses a few short sentences rather than articulating like a normal person, and Bucky nods. If anything about this is going to be okay, it’s going to be Steve calling him babe, after all. 

“That’s okay.” 

They don’t talk about it. Steve called him babe, and Bucky said that it was okay, and they don’t fucking talk about it, let it settle into the dust and sat on Bucky’s bed instead, eventually laying down together. The morning rose like the tides, pulling Bucky in with waves of consciousness rather than him coming to all at once. His back is much warmer than his front and he knows Steve is in bed with him (because no one else ever is, he can’t sleep with anyone else close to him - Clint had tried it once to help him sleep before just giving up and grabbing Steve). He thinks waking up is a similar activity for Steve as it is for him, since it’s daylight and Steve still hasn’t left him. 

The wording there, Steve leaving him, gets away from Bucky in a way he has to reel in, peeling away the quickly lain layers of hurt that Steve doesn’t deserve for Bucky to feel concerning him. Steve isn’t going to leave  _ him _ , just the room, and he’ll always come back to Bucky, no one is leaving Bucky behind. He’s repeating reassurances he’s gotten from his friends over the years, falling asleep to the sound of Steve’s breathing again. No one is leaving him, least of all the boy who’s spent the last couple of years protecting him at every turn. 

“You awake?” Steve eventually says, perhaps the fifth or sixth time Bucky has woken up only to be unable to keep his eyes open. At the sound of Steve’s voice, he’s suddenly able to, curling back to touch Steve more and leach more of his warmth. If the  _ babe  _ event yesterday is anything to go by, Steve might like him to, and that’s worth a lot more to Bucky than Clint having tried to assure him so for years. He feels as if he may owe Clint an apology of sorts, but he has no idea how to go about such a thing. Anyway, he’s reassured Clint about Bruce just as much, so he doesn’t know if he should apologise anyway. He’s had a lot of problems he doesn’t know how to come at lately, might as well add another to the pile. 

“Yeah,” he replies in a voice rugged with the remains of sleep, pitched low and rumbling through him. He curls into Steve even more, touching a lot more of his best friend than is strictly necessary (and being totally okay with that). Steve seems to be okay with it as well, given the way he is also markedly not moving away from Bucky, but wrapping closer around them, tangling their legs together and pasting himself to Bucky’s back. 

Steve hums against his back, the sound sending vibrations through his chest and into Bucky’s back, as pleasant as the music of it. Steve, being hard of hearing, is also mostly tone-deaf, but Bucky has never minded before and he doesn’t mind now. He’s only marginally better, the only real singers among them being Janet, Pepper, Pietro and Wanda. The rest of them wake the dead with their caterwauling, though of course, Bucky means no offense. If he isn’t mean to his friends, who will be? 

“Do you wanna get up any time soon? You need a chocolate supply, don’t you?” Steve asks, and suddenly Bucky remembers exactly what day it is. Hogsmeade trip, Halloween, and feeling like he’s on a date with Steve for the entire day (which is basically an equivalent to lighting himself on fire slowly and asking Steve to  _ please, go get me some more gasoline _ ). It’s not that the not-dates aren’t always good, it’s that being with Steve in this capacity and not another is someday going to tear Bucky apart. 

“Chocolate is very important to me, yes, but I’m so comfy,” Bucky says in a voice that’s just as much whine as it is sleepy complaint. Steve’s face is tucked into the juncture of Bucky’s neck and shoulder, his breath hot against the shell of Bucky’s ear. Yet another thing that’s inevitably going to tear Bucky apart one day (though perhaps sooner rather than later, at this rate). 

“Happy Halloween, Buck,” Steve says into the shallow hollow of is collarbone, barely a rasping whisper. Bucky distracts himself from the turn-on qualities of that action by thinking of the content of what Steve actually said. Halloween has been his favorite holiday since childhood (right next to Christmas, of course), and he’s happy enough that he can ignore the twinging in his left hand as he pushes himself out of the bed. His bed, it occurs to him suddenly, will smell of Steve when Bucky goes to sleep tonight (he shoves down the fact that it will certainly help him get more than his usual two hours).  

“Happy Halloween, Stevie,” he says sweetly, letting the  _ babe  _ thing, the closeness, the comforting familiarity soften his voice and pull a smile onto his face. He can’t let it go, won’t let himself let it go, because the hope in it is so warm as to melt the coldness in his chest. Steve holds up a hand and offers a lazy, morning grin, a silent request for help up. Bucky delivers, purposefully pulling him a little harder than strictly necessary and throwing the Slytherin onto the next bed over. “Oops,” Bucky offers, but he sounds just as apologetic as he feels (which isn’t very much at all, he thinks). 

“Jerk,” Steve calls Bucky as he pushes himself off of the other bed, shoving a little at Bucky’s hips. Bucky goes with the motion with a smirk, making it look as if moving was his idea in the first place. Bucky knows the simple go-with-it nature he can have sometimes pisses Steve off more than trying to rile him up, and it’s so  _ easy _ . He craves the easiness of it on their hard days, and he’s glad to have it right now. 

“Punk,” Bucky replies, catching Steve’s hand to pull him along. He doesn’t drop it when they get to the common room, nor when they arrive at the Great Hall. Steve doesn’t pull away either. 

They’ve been in Hogsmeade for an hour when Steve leaves Bucky alone for a couple of minutes. They’re in the Three Broomsticks, Steve running off to grab them butterbeers (he doesn’t say that it’s so Bucky won’t have to anxiously wade through the crowd, but Bucky knows his best friend). He tries not to let it feel like his  _ boyfriend  _ is going to go do something for him, but this is Bucky’s fourth year of Hogsmeade trips and the feeling hasn’t faded. He wonders if he’ll feel like this after Hogwarts when Steve is still taking care of him, because he knows Steve isn’t the kind of stop. 

“Steve getting you guys ‘beers?” a voice asks to his right, and Bucky’s head snaps in that direction.  _ It’s just Clint _ , he tells his fast-paced and irregular heartbeat, pressing a hand to his own chest. Clint smirks, teasing, and sits in the booth across from Bucky, pulling an awkwardly smiling Bruce in behind him. Bruce waves mutedly when he settles, and Bucky can see him relax into Clint’s side when Bucky just waves back instead of saying anything. Bruce isn’t much of a talker anymore either, but Bucky doesn’t think Bruce ever was, not like Bucky, not - he thinks of the sound of Steve’s voice instead of calling himself  _ damaged goods _ . 

“Yeah, he is,” Bucky replies to Clint a little late, nodding a little. Even if Bucky might have been too quiet for Clint to hear, the other Hufflepuff must have read his lips. Clint nods back instead of poking fun at the softness of his voice or the lateness of his reaction -  _ when  _ did they all go soft on each other? 

Steve announces his presence by knocking a closed fist against the side of the wooden booth before climbing into Bucky’s side, nearly plastering himself to Bucky’s side (Bucky, of course, does not mind). The Hufflepuff is comforted by the feeling of being between a wall and Steve, rather than having a side open to people he does not know or trust. Steve seems completely unsurprised by the arrival of Bruce and Clint, and he has four butterbeers. Clint slides Steve four sickles, paying for both himself and Bruce, assumably. Bucky raises an eyebrow instead of asking, nudging Steve’s shoulder for an answer. 

“I saw them when they walked in, figured I’d grab stuff for them instead of making them wait in line for it,” Steve says softly, almost into Bucky’s ear, too close for real casualness. Clint and Bruce pointedly don’t say anything, but Bruce is also practically in Clint’s lap, so they couldn’t if they wanted to. Bucky nods and sets his head on Steve’s shoulder, craving the closeness in close quarters with strangers behind him, though they honestly mightn’t be strangers. Hogsmeade is full of his classmates today, but everyone outside of the Avengers feels like a stranger, sometimes. Everyone outside of the Avengers is untouchable, foreign, wrong, not safe. Strangers aren’t safe. 

_ You okay?  _ Clint signs, apparently not willing to raise his voice over the din of the pub. Bucky simply nods again, taking a sip of his butterbeer and trying to shake off the edge of a bad mood creeping up on him. Well, not bad, with the insistence that being sad isn’t inherently bad beating a tempo against his temples, but sad nonetheless. Maybe it isn’t sadness at all, maybe he’s simply at peace; Bucky’s not sure he knows exactly what that feels like anymore. He imagines it’s something like sitting against Steve with his friends in front of him, though he thinks it would be even closer to it if all of their friends were in attendance. He’ll settle, he supposes, for this little piece of it. 

“Have you guys done the DADA homework for Potter yet?” Bruce asks out of the blue, and the other three of them groan. Bruce may only be a sixth year, but he’s been suitably moved up in most of his classes to be mostly on par with the seventh year students. Bucky imagines most of his seventh year will be spent working on his own projects, and he knows Bruce is excited for the prospect. Bucky, however, knows what the idle hands of Bruce Banner can produce, and feels a mite sorry for the students that will still share a school with a bored Bruce. Clint’s now looking to Bruce with the saddest, most betrayed eyes, his mouth curling into something entirely displeased with the Ravenclaw. 

“Why would you bring it up, Bruce-y?” Clint asks, leaning his head on Bruce’s shoulder and pouting. 

“Because I  _ have _ , and I figure since it’s a holiday, you might be able to convince me to let you copy it,” Bruce answers, smirking in response to Clint’s bright smile. Bucky’s almost afraid his roommate is going to kiss Bruce to convince him, but Clint seems to reign that in pretty easily. Instead, he rearranges himself so his arm is around Bruce’s shoulders, putting on his best innocent expression. 

“And how would you need to be convinced, Freckles? Anything for you,” Clint bats his eyelashes while he says this. Though Bucky can see a blush crawling up the back of Bruce’s neck, the Ravenclaw keeps a convincing deadpan expression. 

“Anything for answers, at least. Now, I can think of a few ways you could convince me,” Bruce says, and the innuendo there is not lost on Bucky (though it just might be on Clint). Clint blinks rapidly for a moment before bursting into laughter, eyebrows raised at the younger boy by his side. 

“Anything for  _ you _ , Scruffy. Whatever you want, I’m at your disposal.” Clint’s tone is salacious, overtly in a way he and Bruce usually aren’t. Bucky makes eye contact with Steve. The Slytherin is already looking at him, and then they both look to the pair in the other side of the booth, as if they cannot bear to miss a moment. 

“You have eight hours to plan the best Halloween party you have ever thrown. Starting now, and I expect greatness. You might want to find Darcy, if you want to get it together in time. You can have my answers tomorrow,” Bruce replies, his tone not so openly sexual, but the way he’s looking at Clint… it’s definitely something. Clint seems to take a moment to comprehend what’s been said before launching himself out of the booth. Bucky can see the second when it goes from being a condition to a challenge in Clint’s eyes. 

“Greatest party you’ve ever seen, Brucey-bear, you’ve got it!” Clint says loudly, then runs out of the pub entirely. 

“You don’t even like parties,” Steve asks without really asking, tilting his head at the Ravenclaw. Bruce shrugs at him, unperturbed and not really seeming to care. It’s good to see the Ravenclaw any kind of relaxed, especially in public. 

“I don’t, but he does, and I want him in his element when I ask him out. I’ve seen what you two have been up to, and I want to fix our shit myself before Bucky ‘figures out’ what to do with us,” he answers, picking apart a napkin in the only outward display of his anxiety. Bucky’s honestly shocked - he thought they were being subtle, at least. 

“It’s not that you were being open about it,” Bruce eventually explains, when no one says anything, “but everyone was having weird emotional talks with Bucky that I almost walked in on several of, and it was getting to be like  _ adventure with Zuko _ . I want to fix it myself before it gets to be my turn.” 

“You don’t want an emotional talk with me, Banner?” Bucky teases through his haze, pushing down the panic. “Does anyone else know?” he asks, letting a little of his true anxiety show through. 

“I don’t think so, but try to be a little less obvious. I’m going to go make sure Clint isn’t just running around Hogsmeade like a chicken with its head cut off. See you guys tonight, right?” Bruce doesn’t wait for an answer. 

“You okay?” Steve asks after a minute. 

“I think I’m good,” Bucky answers honestly, the heavy beating of his heart in his chest having calmed some.  

“You good for the party later? How are you on spoons?” Steve questions concernedly, and Bucky’s heart swells. Steve and the rest have really taken the spoon metaphor to heart; he loves his friends (maybe especially Steve, but whatever). 

“Can we go take a nap before the party?” he asks, quiet, not wanting to wreck the mood but tired all the same (whether the weariness be emotional or physical). Steve smiles. 

“Of course.” 

Bucky wakes slowly all over again, Steve’s arm curled around his waist and a smile pressed into Bucky’s shoulder. He doesn’t know if Steve is awake, given that sometimes the Slytherin smiles in his sleep, but he can take guesses with wiggling fingers against his abdomen. 

“Stevie, I swear to god,” Bucky says, his voice still thick with sleep and lazy comfort. 

“It’s time to get up, Buck. Clint says party in twenty,” Steve explains, and Bucky doesn’t feel so tired anymore. Giddiness is spreading in his chest, and he rolls out of the bed and onto his hands and knees on the floor. He grins at Steve, eyes wild and grabs for different clothes shortly thereafter. Steve’ll have to go all the way down the hall to the dungeons, down another hall to his room and further to change. That’s a shame. 

“You wanna borrow a different shirt, Stevie? Clothes always feel gross after sleepin’ in ‘em,” Bucky offers, already throwing a few shirts at the Slytherin. Steve may have bulked up in the past couple of years, but he should still be able to fit his dorito chest in Bucky’s clothes. He doesn’t let himself think about how much he’ll enjoy Steve in his clothes, completely separate of the fact that he’s doing Steve a favour. He’d look really good in Bucky’s blue henley, he thinks, searching through his trunk with a little more fervor. Steve’s parsing through the shirts Bucky has already thrown at him, but Bucky’s now a man on a mission. 

“Don’t pick one of those. I’ve got somethin’ in mind now,” Bucky commands, taking the shirts out of Steve’s lap and putting them on Clint’s bed. Steve stills says nothing, smiling at Bucky in a way that the Hufflepuff knows means his best friend is humouring him. It’s a sweet smile, and Bucky doesn’t mind being patronised so long as it stays. “Found it!” Bucky says after a moment, throwing the henley into Steve’s lap with a flourish. Steve picks it up and spreads it out in front of himself, looking at the simple aesthetic of the shirt. He nods. 

“Thanks, ba - Buck,” Steve says, a blush crawling up his neck. He’s following the line of the redness coming from Steve’s neck all the way to his ears, so it takes Bucky a moment to realise what Steve almost said, a smirk taking over his entire face. 

“You were gonna call me babe again, weren’t you?” he teases, eyebrows raised and walking closer to Steve. He’s enamoured with how embarrassed Steve looks right now, how sweet, almost smaller, like he was when they were younger. Bucky wants to reach out and touch, but he also doesn’t want to break the moment, whatever nebulous moment they may be having (if it’s really happening at all; Bucky almost thinks he’s dreaming). 

“Shut up, jerk,” Steve replies, hiding his face in the shirt a little. Bucky knows the shirt smells like his own cologne, so he hopes Steve’s enjoying himself at least. Imagining Steve enjoying his cologne in such an obvious affectionate manner brings a blush to Bucky’s own face, but he keeps the smoothness of the moment effectively. 

“Make me, punk,” Bucky says, leaning over Steve with his hands on the canopy bar of his bed. Steve’s face is no longer hidden, showing the smile and determination on his face. 

“Okay,” the Slytherin replies, and kisses Bucky on the mouth. Bucky doesn’t think of a single thing but Steve’s mouth, no coherent thoughts there at all, just a litany of  _ please, more, Steve, God _ . It’s the closest he’s come to prayer since he was in Muggle schooling, and Bucky has to think very hard to concentrate enough to kiss back. 

Steve pulls back slowly, lingering with his lips against Bucky’s, and Bucky may or mayn’t have died and gone to heaven. He follows Steve’s lips (he wants  _ more _ ) as he pulls away and Steve chuckles, soft in the fading light of the evening. Steve’s left hand finds his right, grabbing onto it and holding it dearly, smiling up at him sweetly. Bucky feels a wash of relief with his overwhelming euphoria, grateful that this isn’t already making them awkward. Bucky stands up to his full height to look Steve in the face, smiling back at him and still holding onto his hand. Steve holds up the shirt still in his right hand, and raises his eyebrows.

“I think we might have a party to get to, or something,” he says, voice honey-smooth and thick with happiness. Bucky can tell Steve doesn’t really want to leave the room anymore, as open as the blond boy is with his obvious desires. Bucky turns to get away from the heated gaze directed his way, looking through his clothes again. He decides on a green henley that may be chosen for its particular resemblance to Steve’s first house color, but that is neither here nor there. He turns back to Steve to strip out of his shirt, knowing the quality of the toned muscles of his torso, gotten from years of Quidditch. 

“You’re killing me here, Buck,” Steve says while Bucky’s shirt is off of him, a dark blush high in his cheeks. Bucky smirks and dallies about putting on the new shirt, wiggling his eyebrows at Steve. “You’re the fucking worst,” Steve announces, covering his face for a short moment again. He can’t seem to make himself look away for too long, and that makes pride burn in Bucky’s chest. Winding Steve up (having not known he could do it in this particular manner before) is one of his favourite pastimes. The fact that he can do  _ this _ , take his best friend out of his skin so simply, Bucky feels powerful in a way that he hasn’t felt in a time too long for someone so very young. 

“ _ Language _ ,” Bucky replies in a falsely scandalised tone, and Steve groans; Bucky himself and Tony are the worst of them for making fun of Steve for that one slip. Well, them and Janet, who may be the worst of them for bringing up regrettable past transgressions in general. 

“You can’t make fun of me less than five minutes after our first kiss, that is so not okay,” Steve complains, and Bucky blushes. He knows they did it, that they kissed or whatever, but talking about anything openly is enough to make Bucky go red in the face, lowering his eyes and no longer making full eye contact. Steve smirks up at him, probably realising why he’s blushing and just barely holding back poking fun at Bucky as well. “Are you ever going to put on your shirt?” the Slytherin asks, gesturing to Bucky’s still naked torso. 

“Are you ever going to change out of yours, Stevie?” Bucky retorts, wishing away the blush desperately. Steve strips of his own shirt and Bucky feels his mouth go a little bit dry, keeping his hands to tucked safe to himself until he realises that he doesn’t necessarily have to do so, that he can reach out if he so pleases (with the presumption that they’ve always touched each other, and kissing his best friend should only make that more acceptable). He lays his right hand flat against Steve’s abs, making a mental note of the texture of the skin there. “Fuck, Steve,” Bucky says quietly, nearly reverent, and thinks about putting his tongue to them. He needs to calm the fuck down. 

“You’re killing me here, Buck,” Steve repeats his own words from only moments ago, looking at Bucky with hooded eyes. “We have a party to get to,” Steve reminds him, putting on the blue henley; Bucky was right, it looks kind of unfairly good on him. Bucky sighs and puts on his own shirt, the green going well with the dark wash of his new jeans. Steve looks him up and down appreciatively - it’s safe to say that Bucky is blushing once more, something that’s already becoming disturbingly commonplace.

“Party?” Bucky asks, tipping his head to the door in invitation to lead the way out, being as he’d follow Steve anywhere. The Slytherin takes the initiative and Bucky’s hand, pulling him down the hallway to the Hufflepuff common room. Upon reaching their destination, they are taken from the usual light-bright and soft aesthetic of Hufflepuff into a dimmed ghost of Bucky’s former common room, hung with spider webs and magic candlesticks with flames of different colours. The room is already bustling with all of the rest of the Avengers, and more people seem to be pouring in through the door. 

“Clint really went all out, didn’t he?” Bucky says quietly into Steve’s ear, leaning into the younger boy to stem some of his anxiety. Steve nods, tucking Bucky beneath his arm and guiding him to a still free, large armchair. He sits and pulls Bucky into his lap, a familiar action that ends with Steve’s hand in his, a large thumb stroking over Bucky’s hard knuckles. 

“He just really wants Bruce - Bruce’s  _ answers _ , I mean,” Steve jokes, pressing his face ever so softly into Bucky’s hair. The elation bubbling in Bucky’s stomach is interrupted by Tony crashing into the armchair next to theirs, already with a heinously large grin on his face. The Ravenclaw wiggles his eyebrows in their direction and looks between them suggestively, apparently trying to embarrass them. Instead of the usual rush of nerves that would come with such a gesture, Bucky feels another rush of glee. Steve seems to have the same train of thought, as the blond pulls him into their second kiss of the evening, right there in front of one of their closest friends. 

“Cap and Bucky Boy are making out on the couch! Call the presses!” Tony immediately  _ screeches _ , bringing the attentions of all of the Avengers and several others. Steve is smirking, Bucky can nearly feel it with their closeness, and Bucky knows that he himself is blushing. Clint crows a congratulations, and some of the other Avengers throw in their own looks of both encouragement and open amusement. Bucky, while embarrassed, feels proud of the accomplishment of finally getting together with Steve. And then, Steve talks. 

“Okay, first of all, it’s an armchair, and we haven’t started making out yet.” 

The party is more or less in full swing by the time Bucky even  _ sees  _ Bruce, let alone sees him shack up with Clint. The Ravenclaw is walking around kind of like he owns the place, and Bucky is proud of his confidence. Bucky himself hasn’t moved from Steve’s lap since he got here, asking favours of their friends (most of whom still have massive soft spots for him even as softness in the Avengers goes) if he’s needed anything. The muted and mellowed atmosphere of their little corner of the room is relaxing rather than taxing, Steve playing with his hair and both of them chatting with Wanda and Vision. Vision isn’t much for dancing, or Bucky imagines he would have already asked Wanda to dance. 

“So, how’d it happen,  _ zaika _ ?” Wanda inquires after perhaps thirty minutes of open discussion. The length of time she has refrained from asking is honestly impressive, so Bucky tries to push down the flush that crawls up his chest when she finally does. She looks so pleased with everything going on around her right now that Bucky’s chest  _ aches _ , so grateful she’s found herself happy here. The scared girl of a few years ago flashes before Bucky’s eyes, reminding him exactly how much she’s changed. The Avengers have made her better, just as they have him, just as they’ve all made each other better as a whole. 

“Yes, how did this  _ finally  _ happen, sibling dear?” a close voice asks, before the speaker moves into view. Becca, Bucky’s own little sister, is apparently in attending - Bucky doesn’t realise until she slides into the place between Wanda and himself, settling as if she was made to be there. 

“He was being a shithead, so I kissed him to make him shut up,” Steve explains succinctly, smirking at Bucky. The Hufflepuff is almost caught in the gravity of his best friend’s smile, nearly missing the insult of what Steve had said. Pulling it together as much as he ever does, Bucky clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, because accurate though the description may be, it’s still rude to call him a shithead. In the side of his vision, he sees his little sister nod, satisfied with the answer, before rising back up and disappearing back into the fray of bodies dancing in good cheer. 

“You can’t insult me less than five hours after our first kiss, that is so not okay,” Bucky complains in mimicry of what Steve had said earlier. Steve rolls his eyes and pecks his cheek, not letting the others see how he also pinches Bucky’s side. Little shit. Bucky pinches him back, though all Wanda and Vision can see is him pressing a kiss against Steve’s forehead. Steve rolls his eyes again (if he does it much more, he’s going to hurt himself), and doesn’t retaliate again, settling back into the chair. 

“And how were you being a shithead,  _ zaika _ ?” Wanda prompts, smiling sweetly at them both, so obviously happy for them. Bucky  _ really  _ wants to get her and Vision together, just so she can be so happy as he is in this moment. Steve sets his head against Bucky’s shoulder, letting him explain himself this time. 

“Steve almost called me babe - not the first time - and I made fun of him, he told me to stop, I told him to make me, he kissed me.” Bucky lays out a step-by-step of what happened, little gestures included. Wanda nods and grins again, laughing in her quiet way. Vision seems to be distracted in a conversation with Tony, though he comes back a little to watch Wanda laugh. The poor boy has it bad, Bucky decides, now sure of Wanda’s prospective suitor, or whatever. He wants to be confident in Vision, wants to be confident in every single match he makes, and the reassurance is good. 

“Not the first time?” Wanda asks, all raised eyebrows and implication - Bucky’s face heats up all over again. If he had known getting with Steve would turn him into a blushing idiot, he mightn’t have - but he still totally would’ve wanted to kiss Steve. He’s wanted to kiss Steve since they were twelve fucking years old, after all, and a little embarrassing thing like blushing all the damn time isn’t going to kill his vibe. Steve is blushing as well, this time, so Bucky even feels a little amused, flattening his palm against Steve’s stomach. 

“Stevie here called me babe when I was freaking out, like a real nerd. What a fuckin’ dork, am I right, ladies?” Bucky laughs, expelling the latent anxiety of ever mentioning his anxiety in general out loud. Wanda nods sagely again, but Vision’s eyes narrow and Bucky tenses a little, waiting for the impact. Then, lifesaver she is, Wanda leans into the Ravenclaw boy, and Vision seems to completely lose his train of thought. Bucky fucking loves Wanda. 

There’s a ruckus further to the centre of the Avengers circle, where Bucky vaguely knows Clint and Bruce and Tony and the others to be sprawled out together. Bucky cranes his neck to look and gets an eyefull of Clint caught by surprise, Bruce cupping his jaw and seeming to have just kissed him. Tony is cheering, always enamoured with the romance in the room, and Loki is looking somewhat lovelorn in the seat next to him. Bucky doesn’t want to meddle with Loki again, but he feels he might have to do so. 

“He really did it,” Steve whispers, close enough that the Hufflepuff can feel the rush of breath Steve takes against the shell of his ear. Sitting in his best friend’s lap, close enough to kiss him, Bucky feels a whirlwind of emotions he thus far hasn’t allowed himself to feel: a touch of confusion, worry, anxiety. He’s only been feeling the positives of it, ignoring the oppressing question of what exactly is going to happen to them. Relegating these thoughts to a later time, Bucky leans back into Steve. 

“Yeah, he did. I’m proud of him,” Bucky replies, as quiet as he can be while Steve is still able to hear him. The fine art of balancing privacy with Steve’s hearing is one that Bucky is quite experienced in, having known Steve most of his life (as well as Clint, who can hear even less than Steve without his aids). Being as Steve never wears any kind of aids, Bucky is pretty much speaking at a normal level, only so cloaked in the sound around them that it doesn’t really matter, because no one is paying them any mind anyway. 

“I think Tony is too,” Steve says into Bucky’s collarbone, pressing a fleeting kiss to the skin there as well. It sends a shiver up Bucky’s spine while also helping him relax, like a caffeine pill taken with a shot of firewhiskey. 

“Just wish Tony would do the same thing with Loki,” Bucky huffs, settling into Steve fully, almost relaxed enough to fall asleep again. 

They’ve been - whatever they are - for almost a week now, Bucky even more in Steve’s pocket (and vice versa) even more than usual, sleeping in the same bed every night but one during this time. All the while, they haven’t talked about what’s going on, just going with the flow and kissing and lazing about with each other. Bucky is  _ elated _ , but he’s confused and unsettled and he wants some closure on exactly what is happening between the two of them. Even now, they’re laying in bed together and Bucky isn’t sure what the fuck they’re laying in bed together as - best friends? Partners? Both? He’s setting himself up to ask when Steve speaks first, the blond looking nervous and biting his lip. Bucky is immediately worried. 

“Okay, so, not to be that guy, but… what are we?” Steve asks, and  _ Oh thank God,  _ honestly, he had so not wanted to be the desperate one to ask. Not, of course, that Steve is desperate, but rather that Bucky would have felt desperate where Steve just sounds normal, if nervous. The fact that Steve hit him with that  _ what are we?  _ is kind of amusing, but Bucky’s not really thinking about that at the minute. 

Bucky’s anxiety flows out of him like the river to the ocean, peace settling between his shoulder blades and unraveling the stress knots there. He’s still nervous, because he’s Bucky Barnes of the modern era, but he’d like to think there’s a calmness smoothing out the worst of him, right now. On the question of what they are, Bucky has mixed answers. They feel both new and old, like they have somehow transcended time in the past week alone, somehow together for both a week and a decade. He feels like they’ve skipped right over the honeymoon stage and right into having been married for twenty-three years while still being deliriously happy. 

“God, I wanted to ask you, because I have no idea. It’s up to you, I’m good with whatever you’ll give me, Stevie. I want to be whatever you want to be. Dating?” Bucky suggests, talking too fast with his hands twisting in his lap. There’s a small smile breaking over his face, more a thing of nervousness than happiness, he’s biting his lip - he must look like a tense mess, and his hands twist further together, the antics beginning to make the joints of his fingers twinge. Even his mostly feelingless left hand is beginning to become the barest edge of sore, and Bucky really should stop, or something. 

“No,” Steve says simply, heartbreakingly, the tide of anxiety and sadness and whatever else washing over Bucky quickly (he’s never been good at emotions in the first place). Steve grabs his hands, unravelling their strange game of cat’s cradle without hurting Bucky’s hands, slowly and sweetly. “I don’t want to be in that weird teenage dating thing that feels temporary the whole time. I wanna be your boyfriend, Buck. I want to be your boyfriend for a really long time, and then maybe something more than your boyfriend,” Steve elaborates calmly (even if the last part is a little nervous), ducking to smile at him, gauging Bucky’s mood like he always does. Bucky lets his head fall to Steve’s chest, his forehead against the blond’s collarbone. 

“You okay?” Steve asks quietly, tone coloured with concern. His hand is rubbing across Bucky’s back in a way obviously meant to be comforting, and Bucky can feel himself nearly purring like a cat. 

“I want you to be my boyfriend,” Bucky says instead of answering, pressing a kiss against Steve’s clothed chest. He can feel it when Steve huffs a laugh, pulling Bucky closer to him with one arm while threading his other hand into Bucky’s hair. Bucky’s smiling as he curls in even closer, tucking his hands into the pockets of Steve’s hoodie. The atmosphere is light and quiet, the comfort of lifelong friends and new lovers, a serenity to them that Bucky craves when he’s with others. It’s another few minutes before either of them speak, Steve interrupting the silence as he is usually wont to do. 

“What do I call you? I know boyfriend isn’t right, and girlfriend isn’t right. Opinion?” Steve asks into his hair. Bucky’s heart swells with the consideration, something he’s never even thought about, and he’s the one that’s not cis. He considers for a moment, searching for another word that  _ isn’t _ ‘significant other,’ because they’re definitely not signing papers yet, and comes up unfortunately empty. He’s still spinning with happiness that this is something Steve’s thinking about, that someone remembers his gender ID on something so small, and it’s… it’s great. It’s great. 

“I don’t know? Whatever you want, I guess,” he eventually replies, biting his lip and still searching for an answer. It’s starting to make him a little nervous, just like every other thing in his life. He holds onto the happiness hard, a pleasant ache resounding through his chest. He feels soft and small against Steve’s chest like this, like he’s carefully kept and precious, just  _ good _ . He feels good, and that’s what’s important right now in this moment, feeling good and safe and happy. Steve makes all of that happen. 

“Give me free reign and I’m gonna start calling you my sweetheart, Buck,” Steve says, laughing lightly. Bucky startles and moves back a little to look Steve in the face, even though he can feel his own face heating up.  _ Sweetheart _ , it’s such an old-timey thing to call someone, but Bucky can feel himself liking it anyway. Steve raises an eyebrow before seeming to register the expression on Bucky’s face, gasping a little. “Wait, do you like that? I’m definitely using it now. Tony’s going to make fun of us, but it’ll be okay, because you’re my  _ sweetheart _ ,” Steve continues, smirking down at Bucky. Bucky forces down the blush. 

“You’re such a punk,” Bucky says, taking one of his hands out of Steve’s pocket to shove at his chest lightly. Steve smiles and pulls him closer again, pulling Bucky in like a particularly rowdy kitten instead of a nearly grown adult. Bucky goes just as easily as such an action might suggest, so he supposes he can’t really be offended at all. The rumbling of Steve’s voice is both comforting and attractive. 

“Okay, sweetheart.” 

It’s another few days before Tony can be trusted to actually come for help on his own; Bucky’s almost been expecting it. 

“Okay, Barnes, you’ve obviously finagled your way into an already unsettlingly committed relationship, and Brucie-bear tells me you pushed him on his way to his, so I guess I’m gonna let you meddle with mine, or lack thereof.” Tony always speaks all at once, a mix of startling and not startling at all. Stark has caught him on one of his rare moments without Steve carving a place by his side, and Bucky would have to be an idiot to think it a coincidence. He has to collect himself back into his own head to formulate a reply, and by the time he does, Tony already looks particularly impatient (also not surprising). 

“Well, I’m glad you’re going to  _ let me _ do you a favour, but you might actually have to do this yourself, Stark,” Bucky replies, and he actually kind of feels bad when Tony’s face falls. “You might have to ask Steve. He knows both of you better than I do,” he amends, removing the crestfallen nature of Tony’s expression. 

“Ask Steve what?” Speak of the devil. Steve slides onto the bench next to him at the table, taking away some of the latent anxiety Bucky always has when he’s in the Great Hall. He immediately leans against the blond, Steve’s arm coming around his shoulder in an equally automatic movement. 

“See? You two are already so  _ together,  _ you know? I want that. This is so gross, but I want something like what you two have, something… sure. I want something that feels guaranteed,” Tony explains, and Bucky’s heart goes out to him. Despite Tony being more Steve’s friend than his own, Bucky knows some of Tony’s home life, and he can see how much Tony craves the attention of another person, someone as dedicated to him as he obviously will be to them. Bucky, a notable veteran of feeling sympathy pangs for others, feels bad for Tony. He knows Steve feels the same way given the overt emotion on his boyfriend’s face. 

“And you want that with Loki?” Steve asks, tucking away his real feeling with a very no-nonsense response. Tony doesn’t bother to answer verbally, simply nodding instead while not maintaining eye contact. “What’s been going on between you and Loki lately?” Steve continues, leading Tony. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know what’s going on lately - he’s been giving me things? You’ve met Loki Odinson, he’s not a giver, but he’s been giving me things lately and I don’t know what’s going on, I need help. Loki got me a very nice set of cufflinks, which I honestly didn’t think he knew were a thing, given they’re for Muggle suits. He gave me woven metal bracelets, which are honestly so nice, and super expensive and I’m so confused. Please help me,” Tony rambles, head in his hands, and Bucky is two steps away from laughing. He had nearly forgotten the plot he had given Loki, and now he’s glad for the little surprise he gave himself. Steve is raising an eyebrow at him, but Bucky will explain later. 

“Have you asked him  _ why _ he’s buying you things?” Steve is still leading Tony, one question at a time. Bucky is glad not to be doing the work on this side of the match, seeing as he did  _ all  _ of the work on the other side. He can’t believe Loki went so far as to educate himself on Muggle formal wear, something Bucky was uninformed on until he was fourteen and going to a work Christmas party with Steve’s mom (and, of course, Steve). He wonders if the woven bracelet came from wizarding or Muggle sources, but quickly decides he likely does not want to know, knowing the occasional sketchy sourcework Loki sometimes has. 

“No! That would be so awkward and I’m so  _ bad  _ at awkward, Steve, I’ll fuck it up. I’ll make him feel weird about it, no matter why he’s doing it, and he’ll drift off and I’ll ruin everything,” Tony’s worried rambling gives Bucky anxiety. 

“You won’t fuck it up - and if you say  _ language  _ right now, I’m leaving - because there is no way you’re going to fuck it up with Loki. You and Loki are a sure thing, Tony, because you  _ want  _ to be a sure thing with him. That’s all it takes. All you have to do is  _ want it, _ ” Steve says, the kind of sure Bucky wishes he could be, but also the kind he loves seeing in his boyfriend. He loves Steve in speech mode, usually a Quidditch captain thing, but sometimes something just for the Avengers as well. He loves Steve comfortable. 

“I - are you sure?” Tony asks, his voice the smallest Bucky has ever heard it, and his heart goes out to Tony all over again. 

“Worked for me, didn’t it?” Steve assures, his voice also low. Bucky’s face feels warm, and he hides it in Steve’s side. Tony smiles at them, almost wistful, and he looks soft enough right now that Bucky could press fingers to him and feel marshmallow. 

“Thanks, Cap,” the Ravenclaw replies, pushing himself out of his seat and presumably scampering off to find Loki, or maybe to convince himself to do that. 

“You did a good thing, Stevie,” Bucky says, hands resting on Steve’s stomach in a way it’s both hard to find casual and hard to stop. 

“I hope so,” Steve jokes, and then greets the rest of the Avengers as they come in for dinner. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

There’s a gloom settling over the castle, the late autumn weather reaching the crest of its wave and bringing all of the Hogwarts students into its pull. The weeks since Halloween have stretched into nearly a month, the tail end of November curling around everyone’s shoulders. Bucky, being quite the person for summer weather, is not pleased with this movement of weathers at all, and sees fit to complain about it as often as he thinks of it. Steve, also more of a summer lad, always responds to the complaining with agreeing hums, looking out to the snow and slush with open disdain. Neither of them have ever been much for cold, though _why_ would be a question not one of them could answer. It just isn’t their vibe.

“Stevie, it’s _raining_ again. I am so fucking over this,” Bucky says, hiding his face in his hands. They’re in class, so he can’t tuck his nose into Steve’s collarbone, no matter how much he _wants_ , or how much it feels like he needs to feel his boyfriend closer. He knows that they’re weirdly attached, but he also knows they always have been, and doesn’t feel like it’s entirely important now. Besides, Clint is leaning on Bruce a couple of tables away, and Natasha is looking her own version of forlorn without Darcy around. The amount of attachment Bucky and Steve have is perfectly normal (as the Avengers go, which is to say that it’s probably not very normal at all).

“Come on, babe, it’s not that bad. At least winter holiday is soon,” Steve replies, twining his fingers with Bucky’s beneath the table. They’ve split holidays the same way since they were in first year, having already been friends previously. They spend the whole thing together, being as they’re so unsettled by separation (which, honestly, should have been some kind of clue). The first week is spent with Bucky’s family in London, and then the second with Steve’s mom in Killarney. Becca complains about being alone for the first week, but she always has, and Bucky thinks it’s more of a habit now than anything else.

“Calling him babe is a form of PDA, Rogers,” Tony snarks from in front of them, not looking up from whatever he’s working on. All Bucky knows is that it’s not the Charms assignment they’re meant to be doing, because Tony is never doing the work assigned. Bucky has never seen him working on anything due, but he also knows he’s at least nearly the top of their class, from what he hears. Bucky himself isn’t really concerned with such things.

“Yeah, okay, Tony _Stank_ ,” Steve replies quietly, chuckling at the old joke. Tony’s best friend, James Rhodes or _Rhodey_ had graduated last year, but the things he uses to make fun of Tony have lasted longer than the now-auror’s Hogwarts career. Tony is turning a nice shade of red in front of them, just barely holding his tongue on whatever it is that it seems he wants to say. He pulls a screwdriver from Bucky isn’t sure where, and sticks it almost violently into whatever he’s working on. There’s a ruckus a few steps in front of Tony and to Bucky’s left as Clint falls gracelessly out of his chair from leaning back in it.

“Idiot,” Tony says fondly, the line of his shoulders relaxing. In theory, Bucky knows that Tony is sensitive, and cares deeply about all of the Avengers, but he forgets sometimes, just waiting to be reminded by something like this. He wants Tony and Loki to be together, for Tony to be happy, and moments like this he knows exactly why he wants those things for Tony. Bucky cares deeply for Tony as well, even if they are complete assholes to one another. He supposes it’s part of the charm.

“How are things going with Loki, Tony?” Bucky asks this quietly enough that no one at the surrounding tables will hear, but Tony still balks. He seems about five seconds from openly putting his hands over his ears like an actual child, so Bucky speaks again. “No one can hear us, asshole. Just talk quietly,” he says, and Tony relaxes again, just a little bit.

“I wish we could just text. Maybe I could make a set of notebooks for the Avengers that go together, like those communicative journals, but a group chat. That’s a good idea,” Tony says, not actually answering the question. Bucky raises an eyebrow and Tony sighs, knowing well enough that he’s caught. “We still haven’t actually talked about it, because I’m actually an idiot, fun fact,” Tony explains, sighing again.

“You’re not an idiot, Tony. You just need to get your shit together,” Steve offers to console their friend, weak but honest. Tony rolls his eyes, turning back to sit the right way just as the professor walks by their section of the classroom. Effectively cut off from conversation with Tony, Steve turns to Bucky. “Something needs to be done there, I think,” he says, chewing lightly on the end of his Muggle pen. Most of the Avengers had started using Muggle pens in the past few years, favoring practicality to aesthetic.

“I tried. I’m the reason Loki is kind of courting Tony. Tony’s just too scared to say shit,” Bucky explains, sighing and scrubbing a hand over his face. It occurs to Bucky belatedly that he hasn’t actually explained the entire picture to Steve, an accident secret held between them. “Loki asked what he should do to - I think his exact words may have been ‘ _declare intent_ ’ but I could be wrong. He asked me for help and he was really fuckin’ tickled with the idea of courting gifts, so he started getting Tony shit, I guess.”

“You gave him the idea? Courting gifts are so… rich boy aesthetic, not to mention old-fashioned.” Steve makes a face as he says this, clicking his tongue. Bucky raises a single eyebrow and ignores the first descriptor, a second of exasperation away from rolling his eyes at his boyfriend.

“Stevie, you call me your sweetheart. Who’s old-fashioned?” Bucky teases, and Steve laughs raucously.

“You like it, jerk,” the Slytherin replies, cuffing him on the back of the neck and leaving his hand there.

“Yeah.”

The afternoon passes with the same sense of familiarity as the tides, inevitable and yet still kind of beautiful.

“Mx. Barnes,” a voice calls, gentle and lilting and it kind of reminds Bucky of his mother, if not for what the voice called him. There’s only one person who is not a professor who ever calls him by an honorific (and teachers never use the right one), so it can only be her: Virginia Potts. He turns and catches the edges of her smile, a touch professional for the long nature of their friendship, but he knows the way she is. Bucky feels a rush of fondness when she gives a small wave, and walks in her direction to meet her halfway.

“And how may I help you, Miss Potts?” he asks, offering her an arm (his right arm like always) to escort her down the scarcely populated hallway. The jesting formality is their version of the boisterous casualness their friends find commonplace, a longheld joke from their days as nervous first years. She had always been an overtly polished child, and Bucky had been one of the only ones to follow such a nature with making a normal thing, a joke between the two of them. He’s glad that he did, one more small connection to bring the Avengers to the large, expansive group it stands as today.

“I have noticed some… meddling on your part, with the rest of the Avengers, and I would like to make an inquiry,” Pepper explains, and Bucky runs a little cold. He has been of the assumption that himself and Steve (mostly himself) were at least _minutely_ subtle, but Pepper, whom he hasn’t even begun work on, has noticed. Bucky feels his face flush a dark red, or maybe a ghostly white, but Pepper is waving her hands as if to assuage his worries. “It’s not a bad thing, Bucky. It’s just… I need help, okay, I’m a big girl and I can admit when I need help. If you’re matchmaking, or whatever, I want in.”

“You want… what?” Bucky asks, tilting his head and squinting; he has exactly no idea what she could even possibly mean. “What do you mean you want in?” Bucky has never thought about working with anyone but Steve on this nebulous subject, focusing on the tangled dynamics of their friends around them, and he almost hopes she doesn’t mean that. On the flip side, he hopes that if she means the other thing, that she wants him to matchmake her, he hopes she means with Phil; otherwise, this is going to get very sad very quickly, and Bucky doesn’t do too well with sad.

“I want to be matchmade, or I want advice, or whatever. I really like Phil, but it’s a pretty delicate topic that I don’t know how to broach,” she clarifies, making sweeping hand gestures with the arm not wrapped around Bucky’s own. All of the Avengers seem to talk with their hands, gesticulating with the turning tides of their conversations, and Bucky’s glad for the motions of it. It’s comforting almost, like a distraction amongst his distractions, given that all of his friends take him away from the worst of what his mind has to offer.

“With Phil then?” he asks in jest, nudging her shoulder with his playfully. She nudges him back in much the same way, though a little harder; she nearly checks him into the wall with the way he isn’t prepared. Her hard knock sets a little bit of an ache in his right shoulder, like right after the accident when he was compensating too hard for his left, but he pushes that away. With Pepper, in the right now, he is light and all here for once, tucking away his wrongness like homework to be dealt with at a later date. He laughs, nudging her again, not so hard, delicate for how he handles her.

“With Phil then,” she replies, laughing as well. There’s a silence between them that always rings comfortable, no matter how long it stretches. It reminds Bucky that they really have been friends for a long time, even when it feels like everyone and their aunt knows her better than he does. They have dynamics, inside jokes, little things held carefully like lilies between his fingers. He remembers watching movies over summer break with her. They’re two of the only Avengers living in London, them and Tony, who is always being whisked off to some summer gala or another, texting them his woes. He sometimes forgets just how close all of them are.

“What do you need help with, Pep? What do you want to say? Also, how do you want to say it?” Bucky asks, because helping is the only thing he really ever wants to do. He wants to help Pepper, and to help Phil and for them to be happy, whether it’s to his credit or not. He wants all of the Avengers to be _happy_.

“Okay, so I’ve been thinking about that, extensively, and I’m not entirely sure. I don’t want what you did for Natasha and Darcy, because I want to do it myself, but I also don’t want what I know you’re doing for Loki and Tony - I don’t know how you convinced Loki _courting gifts_ were still a thing, but I know it was you - I want something simple, something us. I don’t know,” Pepper is rambling, which isn’t very Pepper at all and tells Bucky exactly how important this is to her. She’s never so nervous as Bucky, nor so talkative as Tony, nor so quiet-averse as Clint would love everyone to believe he is - this is important.

“Okay, what if we two-birds-one-stone this? Okay, so, I’m also working on Wanda and Vis, and I kind of want to see where it goes if we put all of you guys in the same plan,” Bucky suggests, an idea forming. Pepper looks immediately a mix of curious and pleased, inclining her head towards him as they walk further down the hall.

“Pray tell.” Pepper nods along, makes affirmative noises when appropriate, and generally gives her own usual impassiveness until he’s done. She gives him a final nod and walks off, assumably to set her part of the plan in motion. Bucky moves as well to hold up the rest of his end.

It’s only telling Wanda, alone no less, that nearly gives Bucky a heart attack.

“And you want me to _what, zaika_ ?” Wanda says, eyes narrowed, her voice lined deeply with steel and ice. Bucky feels a shiver go down his spine, a deep regret at ever making her even some semblance of angry, and her face softens. She’s always had half a mind for her own emotions and half a mind for everyone else’s, a regular empath. Sometimes Bucky wonders if she really does read minds, but she would likely have made fun of him a lot more regularly before he and Steve got together if she did. His heart would go out to anyone who _could_ read minds, thinking of the lascivious things that have come from his mind before.

“I want you and Vision to go on a date with Pepper and Coulson. It’s… a lot of smoke and mirrors to get you together with Vis and Pep with Phil, but it’s a good plan, seeing as everyone seems so averse to just talking to each other,” Bucky explains, sighing and scrubbing a hand over his face. He has to collect himself to start again, as he always does, he’s a goddamn mess as always, and someone always has to see it. He can’t just be a mess by himself or alone with Steve, it always has to be in fucking public (he’s glad it’s Wanda if not Steve).

“I’m doin’ the best I can, Wanda. I didn’t really expect shit to get this complicated, but here we are,” he continues, and the anger she held is nearly gone. He knows, realistically, that everyone has the biggest soft spot for him, and he’s very grateful for it right now, as much as it makes him feel pitied at other times. The energy it takes to make his point more than once is draining enough without having to deal with any latent aggression.

“Why are you doing this, Bucky? It’s obviously stressing you out,” she says, moving closer to put a hand softly in his hair. It’s close enough to petting that it might be a little offensive coming from anyone else, but Bucky never minds it from Wanda. He sighs and leans into the touch, closing his eyes and letting all of the excess tension flow out of his shoulders (as much as it ever does). Wanda gives a short hum and nods for no reason at all, if the motion he can kind of feel from her is anything to go by.

“I mean, the goal in general is to make you guys happy. If anybody deserves to be happy, it’s gonna be you or Pepper, right? I just want to do this for you guys - do anything for you guys,” he says at a near whisper, leaned closer to Wanda as to almost be in her lap. She moves her shoulder in a fluid motion and suddenly, he really is in her lap, his cheek settled against her thigh. Her hands move to carefully finger comb out where his hair is grown too long and has seen fit to rebel, ruffling in the back. He doesn’t realise she’s humming until he can feel it through his shoulder, soft and warm - it reminds him of his mom.

“ _Zaika_ , myself and I am sure Pepper as well, we don’t need much more than our friends to be happy, I think,” Wanda replies after a while, quiet but loud with the silence it breaks. Bucky understands the point but his anxiety doesn’t, extrapolating on the idea that Wanda’s probably uncomfortable with everything he _has_ done thus far, he’s made her uncomfortable, caused her harm. He’s shaking a little when Wanda stills his hands, shushing him as if he were a child. “I’m glad you’re trying to make us happy, B, and you’re good at it. I’m just saying that if you don’t want to, you don’t have to, especially if it makes you anxious. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Bucky feels relief going through him like one of the ghosts in the Great Hall, quick and cold and exhilarating. He sighs, pressing his face into her thigh before sitting up slowly, attempting to avoid the headrush. She smiles lightly at him, obviously attempting to _not_ laugh at him; he’s grateful she tries, even if it doesn’t always work.

“I want to do it, _scumpi_ , I really do. It makes me happy more than it makes me anxious, I think,” he says, smiling at her lazily, implying both a quality of tiredness and that of a fine uncaring. She smiles back in her sunshine way before she tilts her head, raising an eyebrow in a way eerily reminiscent of Natasha. There seems to be a pattern of all of the women in his life calling him on his bullshit and being vaguely to intensely terrifying. It’s kind of great.

“ _Scumpi?_ Does that not mean - in Romanian - are you calling me stingy?” Wanda asks, though she must know that the context makes no sense. He knows that Russian is her first language, Romanian her second, but only conversational, and English her third, so he doesn’t mind explaining any confusion. English is his second language, Russian his third, so he understands the language barrier more than most around this strange, English-bred school. Steve, with his first language of Irish Gaelic, understands as well (in fact, a strange number of their friends would understand - Tony with Italian, T’Challa with Xhosa, Natasha with Russian as well, Thor and Loki with Swedish, etc).

“It means - well, it means precious, rather,” Bucky explains, nervously covering the back of his neck with his hand. She laughs and he joins her, leaning on each other in the fading light of the Hufflepuff common room. He’s glad Wanda’s around, as strange as it feels to be grateful for a constant. She should probably go to her own common room, settle down with the rest of the Slytherins, but neither of them have the heart to separate for now, he thinks.

It’s not even Bucky’s date and he’s nervous as hell, fussing over what the group of them are going to be doing, where they’re going to go, all grades of shit that’s only his business because he put his nose in shit that wasn’t his business to start with. Steve is doing his level best to get Bucky to calm the fuck down, but Bucky may or mayn’t be a den mother that just looks like a built seventeen-year-old male individual. Circumnavigating his own anxiety, Bucky sits down in Steve’s lap, straddling the Slytherin, just so he doesn’t have to think for a second. The way in which Steve’s eyes widen is surprisingly satisfying, and Bucky really shouldn’t be so pleased with himself, or so enamoured with the blush covering Steve’s face.

“Well, hi,” Steve says simply, blinking rapidly and obviously trying desperately to tamper down the redness. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, resting his forehead against his boyfriend’s temple (his _boyfriend’s_ ). Steve’s hands settle comfortable on Bucky’s hips, firm and reassuring and _strong_ and _awesome_. He’s trying not to think about how this is kind of a turn on, because then he’ll think about how he’s demisexual and if Steve is turning him on… he’s not thinking about it.

“Hey,” Bucky replies equally as simply, tone light. He leans down a little to peck Steve on the nose, and honestly, with the slight height difference they’ve racked up in the last couple of years, Bucky in Steve’s lap is a good position. Steve has to lean up a little to kiss Bucky, giving him a series of small, soft kisses, pressed to his mouth quickly. Bucky laughs, looking down at him fondly before giving Steve a real kiss, one of his hands (for once, he doesn’t think about which one) slipping into Steve’s hair.

The taste of Steve’s mouth is, more or less, a revelation of one kind and another. The feeling of it is more than that, but it’s not exactly appropriate to explain exactly how Bucky feels about Steve’s mouth in general. Bucky presses his tongue into Steve’s mouth, a surprised moan pulled out of him when Steve makes the decision to _suck._ He can’t be entirely sure, but Bucky may actually be on fire right now, with the way he feels as if he’s being consumed. He pulls away again and rests his forehead against Steve’s, just breathing.

“You okay, Buck? Was that too much?” Steve asks, moving one of his hands from Bucky’s hips to cup Bucky’s jaw. Bucky feels delicate and small, precious, but he ignores the rush of it and laughs with Steve’s concern.

“Okay? I’m fantastic, Stevie,” Bucky replies, pressing another soft kiss to Steve’s slightly open lips. The hand Steve has on his jaw moves back down to his hip, cradling it softly and pulling him closer with the connection. Bucky pulls Steve’s lower lip into his mouth, nipping it lightly before releasing it, relishing in the resulting moan. He can feel Steve’s hand going up his shirt and he tugs at Steve’s hair, not even sure if he’s encouraging or discouraging the action. With Steve’s answering groan, he can assume he’s encouraging it.

“Oh Jesus fucking fuck, put a fucking sock on the door Barnes or something, my fucking eyes,” Clint barges into the room yelling, or at least that’s what happens as far as Bucky’s concerned. They’re not even that far in, and Clint is so dramatic  - Bucky just starts laughing, tucking his face into Steve’s neck. Steve joins in his laughter and moves a hand to flick Barton off. Clint makes a scandalised noise and slams the door on his way out, the impact of it stilling Bucky’s laughter.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asks in his doting way, moving to look Bucky in the eye to _really_ check on him. Bucky pecks his cheek, smiling down at him and still not climbing out of his lap, despite any interruptions or awkwardness. Steve’s smiling in the sweetest way and Bucky kind of wants to eat him alive, but he puts away the implications of that until he’s _not_ straddling his boyfriend’s lap (his _boyfriend’s_ ).

“Still fantastic, Rogers. You wanna make me even better?” Bucky asks, his raised eyebrows making it plain and simple exactly how he means the question. Steve raises his own eyebrows, but it still doesn’t hide the blush creeping up his neck; Steve is no blushing virgin like Tony might think he is, but he still gets blushy about it. It’s kind of adorable, if Bucky’s honest, but Tony can never hear that or he’ll try to make Bucky put a sickle in the PDA jar he’s trying to start, which is so not happening.

“I could be persuaded to do that, yeah,” Steve replies coyly, his smile trading for a grin - or maybe a smirk. Bucky thinks about kissing it off of his face and does just that, moving one of his hands from Steve’s hair onto the curve of his jaw. Steve’s hands are gripping his hips hard enough he might leave bruises, and Bucky can tell he’s already a little worked up. He forces away the level with which he’s okay with Steve getting worked up, because he might not be sex-negative, but he’s never been so sex-positive either. He’s trying to resituate a little when he accidently grinds down onto Steve, making the Slytherin _keen_.

“Shit, sorry, Stevie,” he says quickly, pressing a quick kiss to Steve’s jaw. He doesn’t want to ruin anything when they’ve just started, when he’s just gotten Steve beneath his hands.

“No, babe, I’m good. Are you okay?” Steve asks, one of his hands having moved up to cup Bucky’s face again. Despite how out of breath and obviously turned on he is, Steve’s face is drawn with worry, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“I’m good. Stevie, I’m - I’m not going to get freaked out if I can feel your dick, you know that, right? It’s _gratifying_ to know that I turn you on, I just don’t want you to expect me to get turned on too,” Bucky explains, and he can feel himself blushing and it’s totally gross. He wants to hide his face, but when he tries, Steve’s own hands hold onto them, pressing kisses to his palms. Steve then presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, both of his cheeks, his nose, and then, softly and nearly reverently, his lips.

A week passes, and sometimes, Bucky gets to a point that he knows is the fault of his anxiety, but can only stand to blame on himself. He wraps himself in anger and despair and calls it armour, let’s himself act like an asshole and push people away, sometimes for days, weeks, at a time. Right now, Bucky is going through one of those times, trying to weather the storm that he himself is the eye of. He’s been rude to Steve today, rude to _Wanda_ , and he’s so angry at himself that he could fucking scream, but it would only disturb the people around him further. He’s such a fucking waste of space, waste of magic, waste of friendship, no one should have to deal with him. As much as he tries to push down his negative thoughts like he always does, he feels something acidic as bile rise up his throat. _Not good enough_.

A growl is caught in his throat and he doesn’t know _why_ he’s mad, why every little thing is grating. He isn’t sure why the idea of getting out of his bed sounds like a fucking tragedy, or why he’s just now tired of how Hogwarts makes him unable to be on his phone while inside of it. He wants to throw things and he wants to cry, but he does neither of these things because both would make _noise_. Making noise sounds like the worst idea of the day, acid rising in his throat again, and maybe he should take a shower so he can cry in private. Taking a shower is so much work, though, and Bucky isn’t in the long haul for effort today, he thinks. He knows. He’s a second away from an actual snarl at the sound of someone entering the room, but he holds it back when he sees him; he doesn’t want to make Steve upset.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asks in that way that is usually good for Bucky, but is now grating with the careful conjecture of it. Bucky wants to punch something, maybe himself, but violence is always so bad for Steve and Bucky hates being angry. He hates being pissed more than he hates being sad, more than he dislikes apathy or abhors jealousy. He doesn’t _want_ to be mad at Steve, because Steve hasn’t done any fucking thing wrong, doesn’t deserve any of Bucky’s shitty and misplaced vitriol. For some reason or another, that doesn’t stop the vicious words from Bucky’s mouth.

“Can you not fucking ask me if I’m okay? Just go the fuck away, Steve,” Bucky growls, pressing his face into his pillow. He can hear Steve shuffling in the doorway even if Steve himself can’t hear it, because Bucky is mostly able-bodied and doesn’t deserve to get to complain about his bullshit. That’s not fair but Bucky can’t take back the shit in his head, and if anything proves what a shitty human he is, it’s got to be what he doesn’t say out loud. Even thinking the shit he does, the shit that no one else needs to hear, is not fucking okay, and he’s the fucking worst. Steve takes a step forward, Bucky hears it but can’t see it, and Bucky still doesn’t look up, doesn’t speak again.

“I’m worried, babe. You’ve had a good handle on it for a while, and I’m just wonderin’ if you need someone to talk to, or whatever you need. I’m here for you, you know that,” Steve explains, and something in Bucky softens at his core. It’s probably just another moodswing, temporary and fleeting, as good as it might get, but Bucky thinks he can be okay for another little while, and he wants Steve close for a while. He beckons the other forward and Steve sits down in front of Bucky’s face, letting the Hufflepuff press his tearstained face into his thigh. Bucky hadn’t even realised he was crying, and he doesn’t want to think about it now.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” he says, and Steve hums quietly before putting his hand in Bucky’s hair without really replying. Bucky has craved soothing silence all week, wanted the softening quiet of the bond between himself and Steve spread across a room like smoke, leading back to the warm fire in his chest. He wants to feel soft and small and safe, he wants to be tucked between Steve and a wall, curtains closed around them. They haven’t slept in the same bed together since Sunday, having been caught by a professor once and not wanting to risk it, and Bucky’s so _tired_. He can’t fall asleep alone, caught in a mixture of nightmares and memories that he doesn’t know how to parse through safely.

“Hate to ask,” Steve says, his tone a little joking a few minutes later, “but are you okay?” Bucky laughs and he’s not sure he knows how to stop, muffling the sound on the curve of Steve’s thigh. Large hands pull him up by the shoulders to make him look Steve in the eye, one of the hands then moving to cup his jaw. “There you are. Swear, I haven’t heard you laugh for real all week, Buck,” Steve explains sweetly, looking contemplative for a moment before kissing Bucky on the nose. He kisses Bucky on the nose a second time, speaking again after only a moment. “I really like you, Buck. Even when you’re like this.”

“At least someone does,” Bucky says beneath his breath, and Steve kisses his jaw, making Bucky smile again. Steve pulls Bucky to settle on his chest, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s body tight enough to make him feel so small that he might fade away. He feels like he can breath again, like Steve is squeezing him until the emotions just leave, like a lack of environment makes them die out. Everything is better with his feelings pressed tighter together, concentrated until they’re nothing but empty space. He wants to fade away, but he doesn’t want to do that if it means leaving the spot he’s in right now. It makes him feel safe.

“I always like you,” Steve whispers after a few quiet minutes, and Bucky thinks Steve might be under the incorrect assumption that he’s asleep, but he doesn’t correct him. Steve presses a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head and a feeling of warmth comes over Bucky. The asleep thing might be true, given a few minutes.

Waking nearly makes the nap regrettable, but he walks down to the common room anyway; the rest of his friends may as well be assured of his wellbeing. His arrival doesn’t go without notice, and he’s immediately asked after (admittedly, not much of a surprise).

“Are you better now, then, Barnes?” Clint asks, and Bucky feels the rush of irritation common to the past week, but it’s easier to press down than it has been. He just nods, setting his head back against the couch. Steve has gone to get something from the kitchens, worried Bucky hasn’t been eating enough (he can never make himself eat when he’s angry, or sad, or apathetic; he under eats a lot). He might be able to still himself into eating by the time Stevie gets back, but it’s a little touch and go for now whether he’ll be able to at all. Natasha comes into the common room with a surprising amount of nonchalance for someone who is not a Hufflepuff. She slides immediately into Clint’s lap rather than an actual seat.

“Hey Barnes, Barton,” she addresses Bucky first like she’s not _in Clint’s lap_ , and despite being one of Nat’s two closest friends, he still has some trouble understanding everything she does sometimes. He simply nods and doesn’t get mad, counting seconds until Steve gets back like a sequence of integers will make him a more rational human being. He’s not holding his breath for that to happen either. When Steve walks back in, Bucky lets out a breath, settled in the safety of Steve’s presence. Steve grins at him like he can hear his thoughts, reassuring and yet also teasing, little shithead. Similarly, Bucky lets the false irritation settle over his shoulders, much better than the real rage of the past week.

“Here you go, babe,” Steve says, passing Bucky the food in his arms before crashing down next to him, nearly making Bucky drop what he had only just been handed. Bucky cuffs him on the back of the neck and flashes a fragile smile, swinging his legs into Steve’s lap (it’s totally out of retribution, and not just because he wants to feel the warmth of Steve’s skin). Steve places a gentle hand onto Bucky’s calf, smiling softly enough that Bucky almost wants to tell him to stop. Bucky may never get over Steve looking at him like that, and he certainly can’t look directly at the Slytherin right now.

“You guys are gross,” Clint says, and Natasha swats him quickly enough it must be simply automatic, rather than a reaction to his words. Clint pouts at her, and then moves his face a little away from her to fake at sulking (he doesn’t move his legs out from under her though, which is fairly telling). From anyone besides Clint and Natasha, Bucky might be under the impression that himself and Steve were sitting across from another couple, with the touchy-feely nature of their relationship. Knowing exactly who their friends are, however, he knows that the journal tucked into Natasha’s jacket is connected to Darcy’s, and the bracelet Clint’s wearing actually belongs to Bruce.

“You’re wearing Bruce’s bracelet and we’re gross?” Bucky teases Clint for the first time this week, and the other Hufflepuff turns a bright red. His tongue runs obviously along his teeth as he struggles for a reply, but Natasha is cackling loudly enough to interrupt anything he even might struggle to say. Clint is laughing soon thereafter as well, and Bucky finds himself chuckling along; when he looks to Steve, the Slytherin is still looking at him with that look in his eye. Bucky pushes down the blush that comes with it, but can feel it curling around the back of his neck anyway. Steve’s the only one that can see it, and when Steve laughs, it just looks like he’s joining in on the fun.

“You look pretty when you blush,” Steve whispers into his ear, and Bucky can feel another blush coming up. A touch of the earlier anger tries to burn its way up Bucky’s stomach, but he pushes it down as well, hanging onto the coattails of feeling flattered, of feeling _pretty_. Bucky’s heart is pounding and he hasn’t started eating yet, so he opens the shrink wrap around the sandwich Steve made him so he has something to do with his hands. Steve’s hand curls more possessively, harder, around Bucky’s leg, and he tries not to feel a rush at that. Unsurprisingly, he fails and has to start eating his sandwich to feel like a normal person.

“I’m with Clint, you guys are gross,” Natasha says after a moment, wrinkling her nose at them in distaste. Steve rolls his eyes and Bucky copies the action automatically, raising his eyebrows at her as well.

“The journal in your jacket pocket says you’re just as gross, nerd,” Bucky replies around a bite of his sandwich. Natasha rolls her eyes back at him and pulls the journal out, writing something in it before putting it directly back. “Telling Darcy we know about you guys being totally romo when we’re all around?” Bucky asks, wiggling his shoulders a bit. He’s talking to try and get rid of the tingly feeling of Steve’s compliment, not wanting to act strangely in front of Clint and Natasha (though he has a sneaking suspicion that they already know - this suspicion is called experience).

“Shut up, nerd,” Natasha answers, throwing a rolled up ball of parchment from her pocket at his face. He unfolds it out of pure spite, not really expecting it to say anything. It’s someone’s Charms notes, but they’re not Natasha’s. “You forgot your notes in Charms - I use the term forget loosely,” she explains, shrugging. Bucky doesn’t let himself get overwhelmed that she cared enough to grab his notes out of the trash after he’s been such a dick all this week, but it’s a close thing. Steve’s hand grabbing at his is really what saves him from the possibility of a total breakdown, warm and reassuring. Bucky has to force himself to speak, his throat working before he actually can.

“Thank you, Natashka,” he replies stiffly, looking down at his lap for a moment. He looks up so maybe him reacting this way won’t be that big of a deal, and Natasha simply nods.

“Anytime, Buck,” Natasha replies, and he almost believes her.

The next Saturday, Steve has a game, and Bucky normally wouldn’t feel so antsy, but it’s been a bad anxiety day - having his boyfriend in the air on a fucking stick does not help. Bucky remembers loving flying but can’t recall it for his life at the moment, his fingers tapping against his thigh in a staccato that matches his heartbeat. What Steve had said before the game - _I’m winning this for you_ \- doesn’t help either. Clint sits beside him, this the Slytherin-Ravenclaw game, and the other Hufflepuff is trying as much as he can to project an air of calm, Bucky can tell. Clint always gets this look on his face when he’s trying to work empath magic, disorganised American magic, and Bucky can kind of feel someone else’s peace coming over him. He doesn’t know how to thank him for the effort.

“It’ll be fine,” Pepper says from in front of Clint, but Bucky can see her fingers twisting together as she looks down at Phil. The plan, nearly a week ago now, had been a rousing success, especially judging by Vis leaning against Wanda’s legs, her hands on his neck and chest in a claiming fashion. The Avengers section of the stands doesn’t mind the public display of affection, being as the only one who would make comment (Tony) is down on the field prepping to be the Ravenclaw seeker. Tony’s only been on the team for a couple of years, so despite being a seventh year, he’s not captain. He and the Slytherin seeker - Loki, predictably - are lined up to look at each other.

Wade starts the announcements but Bucky isn’t really listening, looking at Steve and Natasha talking amicably with the Ravenclaw captain. Because Steve’s Head Boy, Natasha is the acting captain more often than not, even if Steve is captain on paper. She’s friends with all of the other captains and talks to them as often as she talks to anyone who isn’t an Avenger. When the crowd roars suddenly, it doesn’t take long for Bucky to figure out exactly why - Loki has pulled Tony down to his height, and appears to be attempting to swallow the Ravenclaw whole. Bucky cheers with the rest of them, repressing his anxiety ruthlessly.

“That’s what the fuck I’m talking about!” Clint yells, one fist pumping in the air while his other arm is still around Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce has a small, pleased smile on his face rather than yelling. Pietro is grinning a sharkstooth sharp smile from his place down the bleachers a little, and Bucky wishes Wade was up here to see it. He would definitely appreciate the look.

Some of the tightness in Bucky’s chest is loose with distraction, and he can almost crack a real smile. He’s glad that Tony and Loki are working out, as awkward as Tony’s desperation has become for Bucky himself. He’s still processing when Wade announces the game start, even while everyone around him as calmed to a stop. Cheering begins again as Slytherin takes possession of the quaffle, Steve and Natasha dashing down the field passing it back and forth between them. The way they work brings fire to Bucky’s heart, remembering exactly what he and Steve had been like on the field as children. Before Hogwarts houses separated them, they made a beautiful team. They had practiced together before Bucky’s accident.

“Come back to me, Barnesy,” Darcy says from in front of Bucky, using the nickname that had been passed around all of the girls in the Avengers. She’s grinning, not making a big deal of Bucky’s brief heartache, and patting his knee. “You wanna do another massage train, dude? You’re tense again,” Darcy suggests, eyebrows cocked and voice lilting in a way that makes it sound like a game. Bucky nods before he can catch himself and Darcy is darting up beside him, hands on his shoulders. “Pietro, get in front of Bucky if you want a massage!” she commands, and the Slytherin soon follows her instructions, still with his shitty grin.

“You okay with this?” Bucky asks, skirting around his actual question as to not trigger his own damn self. He sometimes forgets little things about the twins, especially Pietro, being as they haven’t been around for near so long as everyone else. Pietro did not know him well before his accident, but he always acts like he did, like any anxiety symptoms of Bucky’s were not the norm. He always treats Bucky as a normal person instead of with great care, and he’s glad for the lack of kid gloves. He craves normalcy these days.

“And why wouldn’t I be, hm?” Pietro asks in return, batting his eyelashes before putting Bucky’s hands on his shoulders himself. Everything the boy says sounds like flirtation, and if Bucky wasn’t so used to it, he might be reacting different. Instead, he laughs, working his thumbs into Pietro’s shoulder blades. He’s focusing on Steve in the sky as well as the feeling of his friends in front of him and beside him, somehow able to relax. He doesn’t thank Darcy, but he thinks about it just long enough to hold his tongue. He doesn’t want to ruin the mood.

“You’re a shithead,” he says to Pietro instead, causing the Slytherin to laugh with all of the suddenness of a charging bull. The familiar feeling of satisfaction of making another person laugh settles around Bucky’s shoulders, lessening the tightness of his chest a little more. Steve is careful while flying, Bucky notices every time, not like he used to be; when he was younger, Steve flew wild, without caring about the risk of flying off the handle as literally as he could. Bucky hates to think of another thing that his accident took from them.

“Shut up, _mудак_ ,” Pietro replies, and Bucky is laughing too. Wanda seems to have heard their bit of banter over the din, being as she’s raising her eyebrows at both of them, grinning. Pietro grins back at his twin once he notices her staring, and Bucky can see the resemblance between them most when they’re smiling. He wishes both of them were always smiling, always happy. They deserve it.

Slytherin wins, and it’s not just because the Ravenclaw seeker is too dumbstruck to try to catch the snitch. Both teams fight for the win, but the determination from the front liners of the Slytherin team just turned out to be too much. Bucky is giddy by the time Steve makes it out of the locker room, and uses most of his self-control to not simply jump his boyfriend as he walks out. Steve, however, does not take such consideration, and grabs onto Bucky as soon as he sees him, crowding him against one of the stadium walls. His hands are on each side of Bucky’s head, and the Hufflepuff could push him away - he’s never wanted to do anything less.

“I told you I would win it for you,” Steve says, and then he’s ducking to kiss Bucky hard enough he can see stars. Kissing someone this sweaty should be gross as fuck, but Bucky is pushing his hands beneath Steve’s jersey to hold onto his hips, tips of his fingers on the endless plane of Steve’s stomach, and he doesn’t care about the sweat he finds. He just wants to touch and be touched, feel Steve beneath his hands and know he’s okay, hold him close and breathe him in. He wonders, mostly idly, if Steve would be okay with Bucky being in the shower with him, but it makes him blush hard enough he doesn’t want to ask. Steve’s hands have moved to pull at Bucky’s hair, and Bucky has to pull away so he doesn’t make irrefutably inappropriate noises in public.

“Too much?” Steve asks after a moment’s time has passed, collecting his breath back together. Bucky shakes his head, pressing kisses down Steve’s jaw and pulling him just a touch closer by his hips. Tilting Steve’s chin to get the best angle possible, Bucky is probably enjoying himself too much, turned on a little by the fact that Steve seems to be turned on (not a familiar phenomenon for him). Steve is making little noises in his throat that Bucky knows he’s the only one close enough to hear, but they need to stop anyway. He doesn’t want to think about how much he enjoys hearing them, and thus they’ve got to go.

“Just too public, not too much,” Bucky manages to say, only to be interrupted by something loud just to his right.

“PDA!” Clint screeches just in time, but a cursory look tells Bucky that he’s actually not even talking about them. Tony and Loki appear to be aggressively making out in Clint’s vacinity, which is amusing enough to distract Bucky entirely. Loki doesn’t seem to give even half a fuck, but Tony pulls away from him reluctantly, looking over to glare at Clint before yelling to the rest of them himself.

“Party at Slytherin!” Tony announces, and leads Loki towards the school with the Slytherin following willingly. It’s the second time that the losing team has declared the party, but no one complains as usual. Bucky and Steve make eye contact only briefly before both of them are nearly on the ground with laughter, pulling on each other and leading each other back to the castle. Steve catches Bucky’s hand in his and he feels a blaze of happiness run through him, because he’s so fucking happy he can’t breathe sometimes.

The walk back always feels longer than the walk away, and Steve presses him up against a tree before they’re even half way back.The surprise of it is enough to take Bucky’s breath away, so it’s not hard for Steve to kiss him breathless all over again. The first kiss is soft but quickly turns a little rougher, Steve’s large hand cupping Bucky’s jaw with care. Bucky feels teeth against his bottom lip and stops a noise from coming out of his mouth, muffling his own reactions. Steve pulls back.

“You look so beautiful riled up like this, Buck. You sound so pretty,” Steve says, sounding mostly like nonsense, as he kisses his way down Bucky’s throat. His teeth occasionally graze the juts in Bucky’s neck, between his Adam’s apple and the litany of scars. He sucks a mark into the side of Bucky’s neck, and Bucky can feel himself going red with the compliments, only pushing down half of his reactionary noises as they come. Steve hums in approval and Bucky feels a rush of pleasure at having pleased him, and he puts his hands on Steve’s hips. Steve stops again.

“You okay?” Steve asks, caring without making it awkward, and Bucky grins salaciously, tightening his grip on the boy’s hips. Steve’s gasp is gratifying as anything, validating Bucky’s need to feel attractive, and Steve validates him again with how his hand tightens on the area just between Bucky’s throat and his jaw. Bucky flattens his hand against the expanse of Steve’s hipbone, settling the motions of Steve’s small, mindless thrusts. Steve has the wherewithal to look a little embarrassed, tucking his face into Bucky’s neck.

“You wanna head back to the castle now? From what I hear, we’re supposed to be at a party to celebrate your win, Captain,” Bucky says, and he ignores how Steve’s breath hitches at the last part and tucks it away for later.

“Yeah, party,” Steve replies, and Bucky laughs at the way his voice cracks. Steve shoves at him and they turn to walk back to the castle, leaning on each other in the practiced way they always have. He pushes Steve playfully after a few moments of silence, and Steve’s surprised enough to actually have been moved. He laughs, coming back to put an arm around Bucky and pull at his hair, just once. Bucky does _not_ think about it at all.

“Jerk,” Steve calls him, though it’s immediately softened by kisses pressed sweetly to the shell of his ear. Bucky pushes him a little off again, the walk back to the castle hardly being the time for things such as this, but doesn’t separate them completely. They never seem to separate completely.

“Punk.”

They, of course, get back to the castle safely, slipping into the party perhaps twenty minutes late, quiet as to not make a fuss. They needn’t have tried, though, as it seems the entirety of the focus of the Avengers is on an ameteur interrogation of Tony and Loki, their newest couple. It is only an ameteur interrogation because Natasha seems to be sitting out of her usual favourite activity, relaxed with her head and shoulders in Darcy’s lap. Darcy, despite her curious nature, seems to be just as content running her fingers through Natasha’s hair, watching the proceedings with lazy interest. Steve and Bucky make a silent agreement and move to sit next to them, which happens to also be beside Pepper and Coulson. Bucky pushes down his pride at their fingers tangled together.

“And where have you two been, Mx. Barnes?” Pepper asks, ruining the magic of not having to answer any questions. As a person who is always candid with Virginia Potts, Bucky just pulls down the collar of his shirt, putting his new hickey on display. Pepper nods without much other reaction, but Phil’s raised eyebrows are asking even more questions Bucky doesn’t want to answer. Instead of conceding, he leans back to press his face into the side of Steve’s neck, resituating in Steve’s lap so the action is more natural. Coulson sighs, but doesn’t bother to actually ask, apparently not wanting to stress the atmosphere of perhaps the most chill party the Avengers have ever taken direct action in.

“We’re just together, now, okay? It’s not that big of a deal, Barton, my god,” Tony says above the rest of conversation. He appears to have finally broken under the interrogation combination of a teasing Clint, a curious Wanda and a pestering Pietro. Loki rolls his eyes at all of their antics - including those of who is assumably his new boyfriend - and nuzzles his face into Tony’s thigh. The Ravenclaw looks a little spooked and a lot endeared, a gross combination that leaves him looking starstruck over Loki.

“Gross; at least we’re nothing like that,” Steve whispers in his ear, and Bucky grinds down in his lap a little to spite him. They _are_ kind of like that, is the point, but Bucky believes he’s made his point when Steve nips the back of his neck. He can feel the imprint of his boyfriend’s smile against his skin, and he feels warm all over, like he’s sitting in a hot bath. Steve nips him again to bring him back to the actual conversation, as it appears that Natasha may have said something to him.

“Come again,” he says, scrunching his nose at the idea that being gross with Steve takes him out of his head enough to not hear her. She shakes her head, probably a moment lost, and Bucky doesn’t question it - she’s his best not-Steve friend, as much as they haven’t been hanging out lately, and if she implies it isn’t important, it probably isn’t.

“Anybody wanna play truth or dare? Or… hey, we haven’t brought out the question bucket in a while!” Darcy suggests, and the current of her excitement washes over all of them easily. Steve _accios_ the bucket quickly, setting in the middle of their quasi-circle and distracting the rest of them from making fun of Tony and Loki. The question bucket was actually an ice-breaking tool by a professor of first years, but a while ago, Bucky and Tony had stolen the idea and filled a bucket with fouler questions that sometimes regenerate themselves every once in awhile with new questions.

“Alright!” Darcy says, picking up the bucket, “I’m asking the first question. Thor… what is your favourite colour on your significant other?”

It’s one of their tamer questions, a good starter to a game - Tony didn’t specifically spell the bucket to be a good mood gauge, but Bucky is glad of it anyway. It takes Thor a moment to realise he’s been spoken to, and Darcy has to repeat herself before he can answer her question. Bucky can tell the answer is going to be sappy as all fuck before Thor even opens his mouth, just because of the way he constantly looks at Jane.

“As much as my Lady Jane looks extraordinary in anything, I quite like her in my reds,” Thor answers, and he’s of course talking about his Quidditch robes, which swim on Jane in a certainly lovely way. Jane blushes dark just in time, and Darcy passes the bucket to her girlfriend along with a kiss. The game goes on.

“Rogers, how far have you gone?” Natasha asks, smirk cutting across her face and eyebrows raised. Bucky doesn’t want to think about how far Steve has gone, especially if it’s farther than he’s been with Bucky. He’s not the jealous type, he thinks, but maybe he is. Steve presses a kiss to the back of his neck before answering, holding his hand gently and tangling their fingers together. They’re gross as fuck, but Bucky is comforted by all points of contact between them, sparking together and fizzling out, a cycle. He pulls himself out of his own head to hear Steve’s answer.

“I’ve left hickeys, that’s about it,” Steve says, and Bucky’s chest untangles with a speed that nearly leaves him breathless. Steve squeezes his hand and Bucky turns and nuzzles his face into Steve’s neck, pressing a kiss there. He feels a kiss on the top of his head and hears their friends making a fuss in his head before they actually start.

“Y’all are gross,” Clint says, wrinkling his nose and completely ignoring the fact that Bruce is mostly in his lap, fingers carding through Bruce’s hair. A chorus of agreements rings out and Bucky can’t bring himself to be bothered, instead pressing another kiss to the edge of Steve’s jaw.

“Fucking voyeurs,” Tony says beneath his breath, and Bucky’s head tilts of its own accord rather than intention. Tony’s eyes grow wide before going back to their usual size. “I’m so not explaining that to little baby Barnes. None of you can make me,” the Ravenclaw quickly says to the group, and Bucky is embarrassed by how many of them seem to know exactly what Tony said. Before the crawling feeling of stupidity can settle over him, Clint explains.

“Voyeurism is getting off on the fact that people are watching you get off,” he says nonchalantly, and Bucky immediately snorts.

“Are we ignoring the fact that I barely want to get off with other people at all? I’m literally sitting on top of the only person I can even think about getting off with, and I wouldn’t want any of you people in the room for it,” Bucky says, and Tony immediately looks a mix of offended and aghast. Natasha passes the bucket to Steve.

“Tony, what’s your favourite position?”

The winter holidays start in less than three days, enough to make Bucky breathe a sigh of relief whenever he so much as thinks about it. He used to call them the Christmas holidays, but Wanda and Pietro’s arrival into the group put a stop to that. He’s celebrated Yom Kippur with Wanda for a couple of years now, as the holiday always puts her in a good mood. Forgiveness seems to be a big thing for her, though Bucky has no idea why; good Wanda doesn’t need forgiveness from anyone, having never done anything wrong. He’s shaken from his train of thought by the door to his dorm opening, Wade stepping in.

“Hey, Buckster! How’s it hangin’?” Wade asks, all smiles and laughter even with his sad eyes. He’s always been like this, Bucky knows, but lately he’s worn sadness like a shroud, though rarely do other people seem to see it. Bucky just nods in response before sitting up in his bed, causing Wade to look up from his own things at him. He contemplates for a moment before going for something simple to say.

“What’s up, Wade? You okay?” he asks softly, and Wade collapses a little bit around the shoulders, finally letting himself look a little less than manically happy. He knows that the anti-depressants make Wade more functionable, but it’s almost as if he won’t _let_ himself be unhappy, which worries Bucky just as much as constant sadness would. Bucky is a worrier and he knows it; is well acquainted with his own ability to fabricate mountains out of molehills. He works his face into openness when he’s looking at Wade, not wanting to worry the boy. Wade sighs before answering.

“I’m just… not having a good time, right now,” Wade explains lacklusterly, conjuring up another smile, this time tinged with bitterness. “All of the Avengers are coupling up and being gross and I’m just… I’m lonely, Bucky. I’ve got a hopeless crush and I’m a shitty person, and even if he did like me, he wouldn’t deserve to be saddled with me, and it’s just really fucked up,” he continues, gesturing in shallow sweeps and still with that acidly bitter smile. Bucky would do damn near anything to never see that expression again, to only see Wade with genuine smiles and real hope.

“Alright, be real with me here, are we talking about Pietro?” Bucky asks, because it’s fairly obvious but he doesn’t like to assume right to one’s face. Wade nods without his usual fight against the truth, another worrying action that sets Bucky’s teeth on edge. He doesn’t want to think about a Wade that doesn’t fight the obvious truth, that isn’t armed with denial and shitty sarcasm.

“What do you mean hopeless?” he presses, and Wade sighs again and he’s getting tired of that sound as well as that fake little grin, so tinged with worthlessness.

“Pietro is sunshine, man. He’s open windows and shiny smiles and fuckin’ roses. I’m just some douchebag who is sometimes dumb enough to make him laugh,” Wade explains uselessly. Bucky is _so tired of that expression_. He wants to punch something, maybe break the fingers in his left hand to match the metacarpals and - let’s stop that crazy train. The issue at hand, so to speak, Bucky reminds himself, removing his own problems to make room for Wade’s. He has to scrabble for a moment to grasp something reassuring to say in return, something not _He looks at you like you built the sun with your own two hands_.

“Your thing with Pietro is not hopeless, Wade. You two are attached at the goddamn hip most of the time, and, despite what you think, Pietro isn’t that nice of a guy. You’re looking at him with rose-tinted glasses, because I’ve straight up seen him get mean. When you were in the hospital wing last year because of that explosion in Potions, he _leviosa_ ’d Janet out of the seat by your bed. _Janet_. He cares about you just as much as you care about him,” Bucky explains, long-winded and struggling to keep his tone straight with having brung up a memory from a bad time in his life. He’s not great at dealing with his friends getting hurt.

“He - he did what? Bucky, you don’t have to make things up to make me feel better, bud,” Wade replies, hand rubbing nervously on the back of his neck. Bucky sighs.

“The thing is, Wade, I’m not a great liar. You’ve put Pietro on this unreachable pedestal, and if I don’t appreciate it, I’m sure Pietro wouldn’t either, if you’d just fucking tell him,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. Why did he sign up for this - an amateur relationship counselor before he’s twenty years old? God, where is Steve?

“How would I tell him? He’s not really going to go for someone like me,” Wade says, and turns to his things rather than keeping eye contact. The motions of Wade packing distract Bucky for a moment, but he remembers himself before the silence goes on for more than a couple of seconds. It’s long enough to be a little odd, but not long enough for Wade to say anything, or even look up at him.

“Tell him right before winter break, if you want. Then, if he rejects you, at least you have all of winter break to figure out how to avoid him,” Bucky shrugs, and Wade rolls his eyes.

“Thanks, Bucky. That’s real reassuring,” he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes again for good measure, apparently.

“But will you do it?” Bucky asks in return, trying to get a confirmation rather than just placating words. Wade is more or less a man of his word when it comes to his friends, so Bucky knows that if he just gets Wade to say he’ll do it, he’ll likely do it.

“I’ll think about it.” He snakes out of giving a direct answer well, but Bucky’s not going to let him get out of it that easily. He considers for only a moment that it might not be a good idea to pester Wade about this, but fuck it. The high of winter break is close enough Bucky can taste it, and he’s ready to take a couple of risks.

“Not an answer,” Bucky presses, eyebrows raised and looking directly at Wade. Wade looks back and sighs, throwing a shirt into his Muggle-style suitcase a little too hard, if you ask Bucky.   

“Fine! Fuck, I’ll do it,” Wade finally concedes, and Bucky hides a smirk by turning towards packing his things.

“Awesome,” Bucky says, and that’s the end of that.

“Hey, babe,” Steve announces himself some time later and in a slightly different location, if just down the hall. He slides onto the couch next to Bucky with a fluid motion. He’s sweaty from Quidditch practice, the last very one of the term, and smells like clean sweat and broom polish; it’s presumable that he didn’t take a shower while out there, for whatever reason that may please him. Bucky promptly swings his feet into his boyfriend’s lap, snuggling into him even with the sweat and the grossness. He wonders idly why Steve came to Hufflepuff common room rather than going directly to Slytherin, but he decides immediately that it is a gift horse that he’d rather not look in the mouth.

“Hey,” Bucky replies after a moment, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek. The way it makes his boyfriend smile is excellent, and he thinks he could spend the rest of his life making Steve smile. It’s a thought he throws away posthaste with a blush, not wanting to think about the fact that he’s okay with his first major relationship being permanent. He’s totally not a sap, at least that’s what he tells himself when the thoughts of living with Steve, of having him forever, start crawling in. That’s what he tells himself when he’s being a fucking sap. He’s blushing pretty dark, he thinks.

“What’s got you blushing?” Steve asks quietly into his ear, causing a shiver to run down Bucky’s spine. The heat of his skin so close to Bucky’s makes the Hufflepuff just want him closer, and it takes everything in him not to just directly climb into Steve’s lap. He has to focus on the grossness of the sweat he can see shining before the impulse goes away. Steve places a delicate kiss on his forehead before leaning back out of his space with a smirk plain on his face. Bucky makes a face.

“We really are gross, you know,” he remarks quietly, still gravitating towards Steve to say it, pressing another kiss to his damp cheek. Steve just nods before pulling Bucky completely into his lap and pressing his wet face into Bucky’s hair, another fluid motion like before. The comfort of the action, the sureness of it,  is grounding and pulls Bucky’s head together more than anything else might. Bucky lets himself relax into Steve all of a few moments, reminding himself of the disgusting sweat and getting up as soon as he has relaxed any at all. He tells himself that it needs to be done.

“You need a shower. My bathroom or yours, babe?” he asks, though he can guess what Steve’s answer will be. Steve has a history of wanting to stay as close to other people (friends) as possible when he’s tired or hurt or any combination thereof, and now won’t be any different, Bucky thinks. The romantic attachment here will probably only make it worse as time goes on, but Bucky finds himself not minding the idea. Another gross thought to throw in the garbage before it grows roots.

“Yours - ‘s closer,” Steve answers as Bucky thought, rising and putting his arm around Bucky’s waist. He’s the taller of the two, which makes it just a little awkward for Bucky’s arm, but Bucky doesn’t really mind at all. Steve’s face is in Bucky’s neck as they make their way to Bucky’s dorm room, which is blissfully empty. Logan is at some prefect thing or another, something to prepare for the train that Steve got to skip out on because of Quidditch. Bucky would put money on Wade being with Pietro, Clint with Bruce, but he has no idea where Sam might be. Steve strips off his shirt and Bucky stops wondering.

“Want somethin’ of mine for after you’re out?” Bucky asks uselessly, because he’s already pulling out too-long sweats and a henley. Steve doesn’t answer verbally anyway, peeling out of his pants until he’s standing in just his boxers and moving to stand behind Bucky. He attaches himself to Bucky’s back and clings like a child, moving with Bucky as he gets clothes together. Bucky smiles softly and tells himself again that he’s not a fucking sap, he’s just a person with a cute boyfriend. With Steve’s hands splayed on his stomach, he feels the picture of pretty, just this side of delicate.

“Thanks for takin’ care of me, Buck,” Steve says into the nape of his neck, and he feels a surge of warmth. He tries not to blush and just turns around without dislodging Steve’s arms, now a touch too close to his boyfriend’s face. Steve doesn’t seem to think so, given the barely concealed delight covering his features like soft snow. He kisses Bucky’s nose nonsensically, and Bucky can’t hold back the little bit of a giggle that trickles out. He pushes at Steve’s chest, removing the Slytherin from his close proximity.

“Anytime, punk. Go take a shower,” he commands, and Steve grins in his shitty little way, and Bucky’s chest does not tighten. Steve presses in closer to press a final kiss to his lips before going to shower, and Bucky’s chest does not tighten. He’s totally cool. Day after tomorrow, he’ll be introducing Steve to his parents all over again, this time as his boyfriend, and they’ll be totally cool. Nothing will change, and Steve will just be his boyfriend, and then a week later they’ll do the same thing with Steve’s mam, and nothing will change, and Steve will just be his boyfriend. It’ll be totally cool.

The day the train leaves to take them all back to their parents, all of his things are packed, everything is in its place, and something still feels a mite off for one Bucky Barnes. It may be Steve at the front of the train, this time for ten or so minutes rather than the usual half hour prefects have to spend, but it feels like forever. Bucky realises how disgustingly jointed at the hip he and Steve are, but also remembers just a few months ago on September 1, losing time waiting for Steve then too. They’ve always been grossly attached, and being in a relationship certainly wasn’t going to make them less so; it just makes Bucky realise exactly how in for the long haul they are.

“You all right there, Buck?” Clint asks, having pulled himself off of Bruce’s face for long enough to see Bucky’s discomfort. Clint would be off to America as soon as he got off the train, taking Heathrow back to wherever he would go. Bucky knows that his small town is too miniscule to have its own airport, but he isn’t sure where Clint is meant to arrive besides there. The lack of knowledge makes him feel like a bad friend, but he’s too deep in to ask now; it’s been too long since Clint first told him.

“I’m good,” he eventually replies, probably unconvincing given the space between the question and the answer. Clint nods anyway, not pressing, but Darcy’s lips are pursed - her own partner is exactly where Bucky’s is, and she’s nearly as irritated as he is. She walks across the compartment without saying a word, laying down in the limited space next to Bucky and putting her head in his lap, the weight reassuring. They’ve managed to pack every single one of the Avengers in the compartment even as they’ve grown since freshmen year, so Darcy walking across the compartment included her stepping over four people, and this was without the prefects coming back in just a short amount of time.

“Good?” Darcy asks, looking up at him before turning her face into his stomach and pressing her cold nose near his navel. He laughs, startled, and catches himself nodding before replying verbally, just so she could hear it. The comfort of having someone emotionally close to him close to his skin sinks into him without restraint, and he feels boneless before collecting himself.

“Good,” he says simply, and nearly falls asleep in the time between Darcy coming closer and Steve coming back. He vaguely hears footsteps down the corridor, but he still doesn’t come back to awareness, stubborn in his restful state. His eyes are still closed when the lot of them arrive, all of the little Avenger prefects, their precious Head Boy, and he has to hear Steve’s voice before he’s willing to open them.

“Makin’ moves on my sweetheart, Darce?” Steve asks in a tone rife with mirth, as close as he can come to laughter without actually doing so. Bucky feels himself go red and opens his eyes, scowling at his boyfriend as soon as he focuses on him. Steve slides between Bucky and the wall with a practiced ease, lifting Bucky a little (and, in the process, knocking Darcy out of Bucky’s lap) to slide a thigh underneath one of his. Bucky has to resituate to sit in Steve’s lap comfortably, back against his chest, and Steve seems real fucking proud of that.

“You’re a punk, you know that?” he says quietly, immediately contradicting himself by snuggling into the Slytherin. Darcy and Natasha are equally as cuddly directly next to them, two of the few who have managed to fight enough to keep a seat. Thor and Jane are leaning against the seat near Darcy, Janet and Hank having taken up residence beside Steve and Bucky. In the other seat, Clint and Bruce, along with Wade and Pietro have staked their claim on the hard train cushions. Wade seems to have bucked up in the past two days, given that they’re kissing quite vigorously. Sam leans next to Clint and Bruce, Pepper and Coulson talking closely in the corner by Wade and Pietro. They don’t seem bothered by the making out happening in their proximity. Tony and Loki are simply sprawled in the middle of the floor. They don’t really seem quite bothered either.

“I know,” Steve replies a beat too late, pressing a kiss to the shell of Bucky’s ear in the calm air of their compartment. He misses Wanda and Vision, as well as Logan, T’Challa and his girlfriend Ororo, who have all relocated for the ride to sit with Charles Xavier’s group of misfits. Bucky isn’t much for talking to Charles himself, who always seems to know what one is thinking, even if one isn’t saying much at all. It creeps Bucky out to no end. He wonders without truly wanting to know the answer where Peggy Carter is sitting, but wherever she is, she’s bound to be with her girlfriend. She broke off her brief relationship with Steve for Angie afterall, so they’re probably just as attached as himself and Steve are.

“I’m bored,” Darcy speaks up eventually, but Bucky knows she’s bluffing without even sparing her a glance. She’s looking for a distraction from how much she’s going to miss Natasha over the break; they don’t have the history of spending breaks together, and they won’t see each other at all. He feels bad for her, so he acquiesces just enough.

“Hey, Darce, truth or dare?” he asks, shooting her a grin when Steve squeezes his chest a little. The strength of it does _not_ give him inappropriate thoughts while most of his friends are in the same room, and no one could even make him say anything to the contrary.

“Dare.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Bucky!” his mother calls out, loud and proud in the middle of the wizarding side of the train station. He’s almost surprised that they didn’t call out for Steve first, as much as they’ve always seemed to like him more. Which he’s really not bitter about at all, given that he’s always liked Steve more than the lot of them as well. He’s no stranger to preferring his best friend - now boyfriend - to himself either, but the holidays are a time for happy thoughts rather than depression sessions. His father calls out for Steve as soon as he sees him, and Bucky settles with the equilibrium rather than jealous of that either. He looks to Steve and catches him grinning, squeezing Bucky’s hand as he pulls him to the Hufflepuff’s parents. 

“Hey George, hey Winnie. It’s good to see you guys,” Steve greets his parents before he does, Bucky just sinking into the hug his mother wraps around him. She’s much smaller than he is, but Bucky always feels swallowed whole by her hugs; she’s larger than life, to him. Becca is only a few steps behind them, and Bucky sees his father pick her up and spin her around behind him. Maybe they’ve always preferred Becca as well, but Bucky isn’t jealous of her either; he prefers her just as he prefers Steve, and loves that the people he loves are getting loved. He genuinely enjoys people choosing them too. His father wraps him in a hug as soon as he puts Becca down and Bucky feels swallowed all over again; he’s floored sometimes by how much he loves his parents, and how relentlessly they love him back.  

“How was the train, loves? Give me details about your year,” Winnie insists, scooping up Becca’s bag and leading them to the car. All three of them have been sending her and Bucky’s father letters all year (Steve having done so since his own first year), but she always wants to rehash it. This far along, Bucky finds it reassuring that his mother cares so much, and that George does as well in his quiet way. His father, not wanting to be outdone, is carrying both Steve’s and Bucky’s bags, leaving the three teenagers carrying nothing between them. Steve and Bucky make eye contact and shrug, choosing not to question it. 

“Well, the Quidditch team has been doing  _ fantastic  _ this year, Mum, truly wonderful -” Becca launches off in an explanation as long-winded as it is animated, and Steve slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulder. He isn’t sure how they’re going to tell his parents, because touching won’t be enough to make it clear, he knows. They’ve been constantly touching for ten or so years, and no one is going to be clued in with such actions any time soon. They don’t speak as they make their way to the car, slipping into the silence allotted by Becca running her mouth. It’s only when his mother comes to a certain question that either of them pull back into the conversation. They’re pulling out of the station by now. 

“And have you met anyone… new, lately?” Winnie asks, her particular brand of asking after their love lives. She’s asked the same way since they were too young to know what she was asking at all, so it’s not unusual. Becca shoots Bucky a glance across Steve between them, and Bucky clears his throat, unsure of why he’s so nervous now. His little sister sighs, already deciding he’s not going to say anything, which makes him just irritated enough to buck the fuck up. He hates to be underestimated, especially by Becca, and that may be exactly why she pushed him so, even wordlessly. 

“Me and Steve are dating. You know, just so you know,” Bucky announces into the silence of the car, loud enough to still breathing. It feels like an age before anyone makes any noise, nothing but blank space and anxiety for one Bucky Barnes. It’s broken when Steve snorts, equally as loud as Bucky’s own voice and twice as obnoxious, and grabs Bucky’s hand to hold it in his lap, tangled with his. 

“We’re not dating. I’m his boyfriend,” Steve explains, rolling his eyes fondly at the correction and then pressing a kiss to the back of Bucky’s hand. Bucky goes red and his mother turns in her seat, looking between them with an entirely delighted expression. With all of the grace of a raging bull in a China shop, Bucky pushes down his desire to disappear on the spot, and works to replace it with the usual relief of a good reaction from his parents. It doesn’t come until his father cracks a smile in the driver’s seat, and then begins to laugh quietly in his fatherly chuckling way. 

“Well, it’s about time, don’t you think?” George asks, and with that Bucky is laughing as well, tucking his face into Steve’s shoulder. Becca makes a disgusted noise to Steve’s other side, but Bucky doesn’t care, he’s too pleased to even acknowledge it. Steve’s hand squeezes his a little, reassuring even when Bucky doesn’t really need it, and Bucky feels like his heart is going to burst. He’s got perfect parents, a perfect boyfriend, a perfect sister, and perfect friends to come back to in two weeks. He wishes without wishing that he could see them over the break, but the lot of them have families to go back to as well. 

“I’m so happy for you two! God, I’m so proud of you!” Winnie exclaims, looking as if she wants to wrap her arms around both of them, only to be inhibited by the car. Steve makes up for it a little by reaching out with the hand not attached to Bucky to pat her on the arm, and she flashes him a grin. 

“Now Stevie’s really a member of the family, and you can be even more overt about your favouritism,” Becca jokes, effectively lightening the mood. They are laughing when the car comes to a stop at their brownstone, familiar and sprawling. 

“Welcome home, kids,” George says, opening his own door.

His parents are good enough to realise that nothing’s going to happen if Bucky and Steve stay in the same room, so Bucky is well rested when he wakes. He can imagine Steve is going to wake up with his arm still asleep, so he curls closer to his boyfriend’s chest, moving his weight off it. It’s their third day at Bucky’s parent’s house, making it Yule; even though they practice as Christians, more or less, Bucky’s family has always celebrated Yule, as well as several other pagan holidays their family celebrated in the past. His grandmother follows all of the Norse traditions, while Steve’s grandmother (who feels like his own) follows a mixture of Celtic and Irish Catholic traditions. 

“You awake, sweetheart?” Steve asks, voice deep and gravelly with sleep, moving to press a kiss to the shell of his ear. Bucky responds by putting a kiss on his shoulder, though it’s more touching his smiling lips to Steve’s skin. Steve kisses the side of his neck this time, warm and welcome, and Bucky can feel Steve’s own smile in it. He could wake up to this every single day and not be mad at it, be happy and feel fantastic, no matter what the day would bring. The realisation moves him to look Steve in the eye, immediately followed by touching their noses together. Steve grins, sleep addled and sweet. 

“I’ll take that as a yes. We getting up?” Steve asks, and Bucky’s grateful for the out Steve always provides, even when he isn’t sure Bucky needs it. He nods anyway, rolling off Steve and onto the floor, his hands and knees probably bruised underneath him. He laughs despite himself and pulls himself up, then offering a hand to Steve, who is understandably laughing at him. He isn’t mad or even vaguely irritated, an effect of days spent with only his boyfriend, his parents and his sister, lowered anxiety making for easy breathing. This, at least, is the hope, and it’s worked well thus far. 

“Breakfast? You figure Winnie’s made anything yet?” Steve asks, still unperturbed by Bucky’s silence. Bucky likes how he always calls Winnie by her name rather than ‘your mom,’ making it somehow more personal, more like Steve is intertwined with them on some intrinsic level. As an answer, Bucky just grabs Steve’s hand and drags him down the stairs in their pajamas, a not unfamiliar action as far as the two of them go. Steve follows without question, and Bucky wonders idly how far that goes, whether Steve would follow him anywhere. 

“Morning, Bucky. Morning, Steve. There’s breakfast in the kitchen,” George says from behind the paper, not having moved it to check who was coming down the stairs. Fair, given that the two of them never come down separately, and it’s a given that Becca always comes down alone. Bucky knows she has friends at Hogwarts, but nothing like his relationship with Steve, and perhaps not much like his general friendship with the Avengers. They’re oddly codependent, another thing he knows, but it never seems odd until he lays it against the relations of other people. He feels sick with the thought of the lot of them drifting apart; with it comes Steve pulling him into the empty kitchen. Winnie must already be on her morning jog. 

“You okay, Buck?” he asks, and Bucky nods before thinking, and tucks his head into Steve’s neck rather than contradicting himself. Steve’s hands rest immediately in his hair and on the back of his neck, noticeably careful not to bare down too much. Bucky feels delicate and soft, and reigns himself back into his own skin impatiently. The hand in his hair is stroking lightly, again with the same careful gentleness, like Bucky is everything fragile under the sun. It’s more than he’s worth, and he doesn’t deserve Steve Rogers for a minute, for a single second. Even knowing what a shithead he is, not so sunshine Head Boy as people think he is, Bucky doesn’t deserve Steve Rogers for a minute. 

“I’m good,” he mumbles into Steve’s shirt eventually, his own hands, having settled on Steve’s hips, squeezing once before letting go. He backs away further and moves to the coffee maker, a habit he picked up from Clint in their time as friends, not that he’d ever let Clint know he picked up anything from the American at all. They got a coffee maker in Bucky’s fourth year just because he asked for one, and Bucky knows that it’s what privilege tastes like. He knows that Clint goes home to cheap instant coffee because he can’t spend twenty bucks at once. He knows a great many things about all of his friends, and it helps him pull himself back from the black death spiral that is the thought of all of them leaving. “I’m good,” he repeats, setting the coffee maker working. 

“You feel like eggs this morning?” Steve asks after a moment’s pause. It’s stilling, the way in which Steve knows even the smallest of things about him as well, and perhaps all of their friends know the smallest things and none of them will ever leave. Part of the appeal of getting the lot of them into healthy relationships with each other was so they’d never leave, even if that was such a small part of it. As seventh year waxes and wanes, Bucky feels the appeal of it waxing as well, and he wonders if it will even wane at all. He doesn’t really think so, but he doesn’t want to be thinking of it at all. 

“Yeah, eggs would be great,” he decides without deciding, and tucks into the table next to Steve, leaning on him automatically. It’s odd for them to sit down to a meal without touching, and having individual chairs rather than booths or benches isn’t going to stop Bucky from how he normally functions. Steve moves his chair a little closer to make it easier on Bucky, and he smiles up at his boyfriend before actually beginning to eat. 

“You’re really pretty. It’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’m betting you haven’t even thought about a mirror yet, but you’re still really pretty,” Steve says apropos of nothing, suddenly unable to look Bucky in the eye. Bucky can’t really look at him either, so it’s nothing to his character that he’s only looking at the walls. 

“Shut up, Rogers, oh my god. Eat your breakfast,” Bucky replies, pressing his blushing face in Steve’s shoulder before eating his own food. 

It’s an innocuous day as much as it is anything else, a simple day in the middle of winter break that means nothing to anyone. On 23 December, Bucky Barnes discovers and says aloud that he’s in love with Steve Rogers, for real, more or less. He’s always thought of himself as a little in love with Steve Rogers, because he’s not fucking stupid, but saying it aloud to himself is another thing altogether. It’s putting words to the warmth in his chest, the longing to have Steve for the rest of his life, the worry in his bones. It’s letting himself recognise why Steve turns him on when he claimed the word demisexual a long time ago. 

“I’m in love with you,” he says, dragging his lips away from Steve’s for the first time in the past five or so minutes. His eyes weren’t open when he said it, but they’re open now, and he’s anxious even before Steve starts reacting in any way at all. Steve’s face blooms with surprise, morphing to overwhelming joy (soft, sweet and open joy) in the space of only a single second. Steve touches their foreheads together softly - an impressive feat, seeing as Bucky’s full on in Steve’s lap - and grins up at him. 

“I’m in love with you too,” Steve says quietly, softly because Steve Rogers is a soft being, and presses a light kiss to his lips, and then one each to his cheeks, another to his nose, his forehead, his chin. The attention makes Bucky feel warm all over, and he sinks downward to put his arms around Steve’s middle to hug him. “My beautiful babe, of course I’m in love with you. You’re an incredible person, Bucky Barnes,” he continues, a little nonsensically for all of its positivity. Praise is a language Bucky is learning slowly, but he’s trying (he can’t be blamed for the effect it has in the meantime). He leans back up to catch Steve’s lips with his own. 

They must have kissed a thousand times in the past two months, but it feels both new and ancient every time their lips touch. The slide of Steve’s tongue against his, the nip of his teeth, the warmth of his mouth, it all feels like coming home. The heat of Steve’s hands on his hips combines with a wonderful pressure, like being held together with only the power of someone else holding him up. Bucky feels fragile and good and powerful and wonderful all at once, like he could shake apart, but doing so would take Steve down with him. He wants, with a suddenness he can feel in his bones, to be on his back with Steve over him, covering him like a blanket and hiding him from sight. And, admittedly, doing a myriad of less appropriate things. 

“I want to lay down,” he pulls away to say, and Steve moves to allow it immediately and without question. When Steve doesn’t follow him right away, hover over him, Bucky frowns and looks up and over at his boyfriend. “I said I wanted to lay down, not that I wanted you to stop kissing me,” he teases, and Steve again moves with urgency. He’s between Bucky’s knees with a startling quickness, filling his entire field of vision with his chest and his smile. Bucky wants instantaneously for both of their shirts to be gone as soon as possible, and rucks his hands beneath Steve’s shirt. 

“Off?” Steve asks, and Bucky simply nods instead of answering. Steve whips it off himself swiftly, manhandling Bucky to take off his as well; Bucky can’t say he minds. Before Steve can reattach their mouths, Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s collarbone before sucking a mark into it. Aborting a moan, Steve hisses and moves a hand to the back of Bucky’s head, pulling him off softly before claiming his mouth again. There is a viciousness, a desperation to the kiss that Bucky returns with vigor, nipping at Steve’s bottom lip more than once. Steve pulls away and kisses down his jaw, sucking marks into his neck and collarbone, the very top of his chest. 

“Steve,” Bucky half-moans, and Steve immediately stops. A rush of soft warmth, of  _ love _ , for his boy fills Bucky with all of the subtlety of a bull, and Bucky smiles. His boy wouldn’t complain if Bucky wanted to stop right now, if he wanted to only kiss for the rest of time, if he wanted to  _ watch _ , if he wanted to forget about all of this. This realisation takes less than a moment, but it means the world. 

“You okay, Buck? Too much?” Steve asks, ever careful, and Bucky smiles again. He presses a soft kiss to Steve’s lips before responding, only closing his eyes for a second before pulling away again. 

“Not too much. Just enough,” Bucky replies, and kisses Steve harder, effectively distracting him from wanting to ask if he’s sure. Steve pulls away to resume the task of attempting to taste all of Bucky’s abdomen and doesn’t pull away when Bucky inevitably moans, only looking up when Bucky uses a hand to cover his mouth. Any methods of stifling his own noise are quickly done away with, given the steel in Steve’s eyes directed at any attempts. Bucky raises an eyebrow at his boyfriend, and Steve pulls away from tracing Bucky’s abs with his tongue, leaving marks as he goes. 

“I like it - knowing you like it, I mean. I like hearing you,” Steve explains, red in the face, and it might be a strange amalgamation of the cutest and hottest thing Bucky’s ever heard. Bucky’s parents aren’t home, and Becca definitely has headphones in, so he doesn’t see any harm. He pulls Steve up for another hard kiss, moaning into it just because he wants Steve to hear it (and because it fucking feels good, but that’s another thing). Steve pulls away and puts their foreheads together with a softness Bucky can only wonder at, wonder how he scored someone like Steve fucking Rogers. 

“You’re incredible, Bucky Barnes,” he says, and then goes back to taking Bucky apart, piece by piece. 

On 25 December, Bucky is settling into his skin for the first time this morning, for once without his usual anxiety settling with him. In four hours, George will apparate with the two of them to Killarney, just to see them there, where Steve’s mam will be waiting for them. Bucky adores Sarah, and honestly can’t wait to see her again after what seems like forever, but has only been a few months in all reality. Bucky and Steve shared a suitcase this break, and all of their things are already packed to leave, leaving Bucky just twitching anxiousless sitting atop the kitchen counter. Steve has taken it upon himself to make Bucky’s family Christmas lunch, being as they usually make an event of not doing jackshit nor mary-fuck-all on Christmas day itself. 

“What’s your mom allergic to again?” Steve asks, for perhaps the fifth time of the late morning haze. Bucky smiles, happy to be the grounded one between them for once, especially about something so small. Steve looks to him imploringly and leans against the counter next to him, raised eyebrows and all. Becca, along with their parents, have fucked off to go do something with some of Becca’s friends’ parents, but Bucky and Steve elected to stay home. Some kind of Church service or something, he thinks, but he doesn’t much care; it has nothing to do with him. The moral of the story being that he and Steve are home alone. 

“Strawberries and walnuts, Stevie, nothing you’ve even touched lately,” he reassures, pulling on Steve’s hand until his boyfriend is standing between his legs. Steve smiles up at him, dropping his anxiety to the floor and relaxing into him, putting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky’s hands move to cradle Steve’s head against him, his thumbs rubbing against the skin behind Steve’s ears. Steve hums tunelessly and only for a moment, pleased, and nuzzles his face into Bucky’s shoulder, much like a cat. In fact, this entire action is quite catlike, and the thought of it brings a smile to Bucky’s face. The morning feels like a blanket over them, making everything warm and soft. 

“Come on, Stevie. We’re going home to Ireland in just a couple’a hours,” Bucky says after a few moments, placing a kiss on top of Steve’s head. Steve looks up at him, the wonder as plain on his face as his nose, and it takes Bucky a moment to realise exactly what he said to get Steve so worked up. He called Steve’s Ireland  _ home _ , and it was enough for Steve to look at him like he built the sun himself. He puts it away in his mind while Steve tucks his head back in the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and silence swallows them for another minute or so. It’s the kind of peace Bucky nearly always finds himself craving. 

“You’re wonderful,” Steve says, and the vibration of it is enough to make the hairs on Bucky’s neck stand up. Steve presses a kiss there before moving to look Bucky in the face, pressing a kiss to his lips as well. “Barley or rice pilaf?” Steve asks, apropos of nothing, and Bucky smiles with the suddenness of the question. He’s not entirely sure what a pilaf is, but Steve has made it before, which means that it’s good; it’s probably another staple of Ireland that he learned from his mam. Bucky only knows Romanian recipes from his grandmother.

“Which one do we have in the house?” Bucky asks in return instead of answering, because he genuinely doesn’t know. As a person who doesn’t cook unless someone is sick - see ages seven to ten when Steve was in and out of the hospital, and was still Bucky’s own best friend - Bucky rarely knows what kind of food is in the house at all. It’s just not something that’s quite on his radar. He just really doesn’t want to leave the house. 

“We have to go to the store either way, dipshit,” Steve calls him on his shit easily, and Bucky pouts. “Come on, Buck, I’ll hold your hand the whole time, I swear,” he teases. Bucky shoves him away a little, though still in the v of his legs, still close enough to touch, not that he’s going to admit to finding that reassuring. Steve is such a shithead. 

“Shut up, punk,” he replies, running his tongue along his teeth and not looking Steve in the eye. Steve moves closer and presses kisses to his face, and Bucky still doesn’t look at him, causing Steve to grab his chin. Bucky finally looks at him with this action, though it’s only brief before looking away again, stubborn. 

“Buck, I’m only teasing. I like holding your hand and having my arm around you and generally being that one disgusting couple that can’t keep their hands off each other in public. I like being gross with you,” Steve says, kissing his nose for the second time, and Bucky can’t hold back a smile. Little shit, always being cute to get Bucky to stop being mad at him rather than actually facing the pouty consequences of his actions. Bucky presses his own kiss to Steve’s temple and actually deigns to look at him, still a touch petulant, just because he can be. “Come on, baby, don’t be like that.” 

“Don’t use things you know work, it’s not fair,” Bucky says, flushing dark with Steve calling him  _ baby  _ in that  _ voice _ . He wants to melt into the floor. 

“I’m a Slytherin, I have to use all the advantages I have,” Steve defends with a smirk, sharp and hot and totally unfair. 

“You’re such a shit,” Bucky replies, rolling his eyes and kissing Steve briefly. 

“Yeah, but you love me.” 

“I do,” he says, and presses a final kiss to Steve’s shoulder, sliding down off of the counter. “Doesn’t make you not a shit.” 

They’ve been  _ home in Ireland _ for twelve minutes (almost exactly) and Steve and Sarah haven’t let go of each other. It’s not an unusual fanfaire for Bucky and Steve coming home; all Steve and Sarah had for a long time was each other, and sometimes you can see it in the way they move. She won’t let go of Bucky for at least five minutes once she’s done with Steve, which is enough to make Bucky feel entirely important, crucial in another person’s life. Bucky’s own father, George, left a little over ten minutes ago, awkward with the display of affection as he had been with Bucky and Steve’s affection all week. Bucky’s glad to find it’s not latent homophobia, but rather just a discomfort with affection. 

“Alright, Jamie, come here,” Sarah says eventually, gesturing to pull him into the hug with her and Steve. Steve pulls away after a moment, making room for Bucky to hold onto Sarah, pulling her close. Steve goes off entirely, assumably to put their things in his room, and Bucky is entirely focused on the elder Rogers. Despite the stress on her life and the age of her, Sarah Rogers is a beautiful woman looking no older than perhaps thirty, though he knows her to be forty-one. For a while, she doesn’t speak at all, just holding him close and stroking his hair softly, just so soft as her son. 

“So, Steve tells me you’re dating my son. Does that make you officially my child?” Sarah asks eventually, and Bucky laughs. She’s always so much better with the ‘child-not-son,’ ‘person-not-boy,’ of it all than his parents, she never slips. Her and Steve are both so rock solid with it that he sometimes forgets it’s something people  _ can  _ mess up on. The transition from summer in Ireland to fall at Hogwarts is always one that hits him hard and sends him into Steve’s bed more often than not. 

“I think I’ve always been your child, Mam,” he replies, smothering his face into her shoulder when she laughs. He’d met Sarah and Steve when Steve was in the hospital in London, and he’s made her Mother’s Day cards ever since, even helping Steve to make his. They’re close because it’s easy, because being close has always been fun, and Bucky is reminded of that now, holding Sarah close to his chest and feeling warmth all over. She’s a small woman, even smaller looking with both Bucky and Steve around, and it’s easy to tuck her against his chest, but he never does. She holds him to her like a child, and he doesn’t mind. He never has. 

“Alright, Jamie. How’ve you been, besides finally datin’ Stevie?” she asks, a smile tinging her voice. He doesn’t comment on the  _ finally _ , because it’s what everyone says, and also because it’s finally for him as well. 

“I miss Quidditch, but not enough to get back on a broom. Still don’t know what I’m going to do with my life, thinking about just letting Steve pick a place and following him somewhere and seeing how it goes. Very typical school child of me, but classes still suck. I miss being home and I haven’t even left yet, and if me and Stevie didn’t share classes, I’d want to drop out,” he explains succinctly, pulling away a little to actually look her in the eye while he talks. She nods sagely as he goes on, waiting for him to finish before replying to any of it. 

“Keep watching Quidditch, one day want will outweigh fear. Try picking up a book or two and you might know what you want to do with your life. Steve will never let you get away with that. Class always sucks, at least you have magic, you fool child. And - you haven’t left home?” Sarah finishes with a question, raising an eyebrow. She’s the kind of skeptical that always makes Bucky feel like a kid, no matter how he’s turning eighteen in only a few months. 

“Ireland is home too. Killarney is just as much home as London, and it’s much prettier,” Bucky explains, and she’s got that same kind of wonder on her face as Steve did. They’re happy that he thinks of their home as home too; that kind of need of him, that kind of want of him, it makes him feel secure. He feels as if he could never do anything to shake them apart, and the way it settles him isn’t bad. The ground feels permanent in Ireland, all of Ireland and not just Killarney, where the ground sometimes feels like it’s going to cave in beneath him in London, like he’s going to fall right through. 

“I’m glad you think so,” she says quietly, and pulls him a touch closer, squeezing him, before releasing him entirely. “Come on, then,” she says thickly, “Steve’ll be expecting us inside.” Bucky doesn’t remind her how the hugs have been a thing since their first year, and Steve won’t be expecting jackshit, rather just going with the movement of her pride. He’d rather go with the path of least resistance anyway. As soon as they go inside and he gets close enough to Steve, an arm is around his shoulders, another welcome weight to ground him. 

“You guys are inside quick. Something happen?” Steve asks after them, ever the worrier, and Bucky smiles and shakes his head. He can’t think of anything bad that just happened, nothing that he wants to tell Steve, nothing that he needs to know. Everything is at peace in Killarney; he feels soft as soon as he steps into the Rogers house, as soon as he kicks off his shoes in the doorway because of house rules he doesn’t understand. Everything is perfect and good, and he guides Steve to sit with him on the well-worn couch in the living room, pulling him down. Everything is good. 

“Just happy to be home, Stevie.” 

Steve’s bed is smaller than the bed in London, but it really doesn’t matter; they’ve squeezed together on the even smaller beds at school, and they’ve always liked to sleep close. Bucky prepares for bed on their third night in Killarney slowly, debating whether to put pants on at all, or to be as close to Steve as he possibly can. He’s still trying to make a decision when Steve comes back into the room, fresh from the shower and smelling like his aftershave. It’s a wonderfully intoxicating scent, and Bucky drifts toward it without really thinking about it in the slightest. Steve pulls him to his chest as soon as he drifts close enough, another example of exactly how often they touch each other. 

“You ready for bed?” Steve asks, kissing his temple and pulling him towards that destination. Bucky nods, but he still has his hands on his waistband; Steve notices, because the boy notices everything. “Pants off? That’d be okay. Would you be more comfortable?” Steve asks after him, his accent slipping in to give everything that little Irish lilt. It’s always more prominent when they’re home and Bucky loves it, loves the softness of it adding to Steve’s overall softness. Bucky nods again, sliding them off himself; Steve gestures to himself, and Bucky nods yet again. Steve takes off his own pants. Bucky doesn’t stop himself from staring at Steve’s toned legs before moving on, bringing a smile to Steve’s face. 

“We’re seventeen, and yet we feel so domestic. America, explain,” Bucky says, referencing a viral video Clint sent to the group chat a while ago as he lays down. Steve snorts and slides in after him, putting an arm over his midsection easily, as well as hooking his chin over Bucky’s shoulder to make it easier for them to talk. Bucky puts his hand over Steve’s on his stomach, lacing their fingers together in such a way that it makes them look like latticework, interesting and beautiful and dazzlingly impractical. 

“Well, we’ve been married for ten years, babe - we’re bound to get a little domestic,” Steve replies, and Bucky is ashamed to say he knows exactly what his boyfriend is talking about. Around the third time Steve was in the hospital after they met, Bucky told a couple of nurses that he was Steve’s husband to try and get into the ward. He was cute enough that they let him in, but it also made Bucky think that he had to pretend to be Steve’s husband every time a nurse walked in (this did not lead to any more handholding than usual, seeing as they would have been holding hands anyway). It did, however, lead to both Bucky and Steve’s first kiss, another little piece of ‘acting like husbands’ and having a big ass crush on his best friend. He doesn’t want to think about just how embarrassing he was as a kid. 

“Shut the fuck up, I was eight,” he whines, tucking his face down into the pillow petulantly. Steve presses a kiss to his neck and then his jaw, though Bucky can feel the smile on his lips with each one. He squeezes the fingers of Steve’s hand with his own, not lingering on the fact that Steve’s holding his left hand. He’s not thought about it since they laid down, and the peace of it falls around Bucky’s shoulders like a warm sweater. He lets his head fall to the side a little, allowing Steve to trail kisses down his neck and to the edge of his collarbone. He starts smiling despite himself, and he knows Steve can see it. 

“You’re so pretty, sweetheart. Just so beautiful,” Steve says quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it at all. Bucky flushes with the praise and turns his head, reaching an unfortunate and yet perfect angle to kiss Steve’s cheek. Steve grins and turns a little further to peck him on the lips, short and sweet and just what Bucky wanted, really. Bucky actually turns his body now, facing Steve to kiss him more comfortably and for a longer period of time. He feels Steve smile against his lips and smiles in return, until really all they’re doing is grinning at each other too close rather than kissing at all. Steve presses a kiss to his nose and moves to put Bucky’s head against his shoulder, cradling him close. 

“I love you,” Bucky whispers, close enough to Steve’s good ear that he knows that he can hear it, wants him to hear it. He tries to be just so careful about Steve’s disability as Steve is about every fucked up thing Bucky has to deal with, and the little things are what makes it, he knows. Steve pulls him in just a touch closer, as close as he possibly can be, and puts a hand in his hair, pressing a kiss in his hair before replying. 

“I love you too, Buck,” he says, and that’s that. 

The days pass as they always do when the two of them are home with Sarah: both quickly and warmly. Bucky doesn’t feel the seconds as they go, barely the minutes, and soon, break is very nearly over.

The countdown to 2017 is on the screen, only an hour left, and the group chat, as typical for large events, is blowing up. Clint, despite it being seven hours to the new year for him, has sent eight selfies with his dog Lucky, while everyone else has been sending pictures with significant others; Bruce has sent one shy selfie with a kitten about the size of his palm. Clint’s just gotten Lucky approved as a service dog and is bringing him back after break, and Bruce is bringing the kitten as well. There is bickering in chat of whether Lucky and little Katara (“Get it?  _ Kat _ ara?”) will get along, bets being placed over long distance. Nat is betting for, Darcy against, and the rest of them are splitting down the middle as so. Natasha knows Lucky the best, so Bucky trusts her judgement. 

“What are the others on about?” Steve asks, having not looked at his phone for perhaps the past hour. He’s cooking rather than letting his mother do so, wanting her to relax into the couch for  _ once _ . Bucky isn’t sure that Sarah Rogers has relaxed a day in her life, and both himself and Steve have worked at least two days every break to try and make her do so. She’s not even on the couch just now, instead outside on the porch talking to some friends she has over that Bucky’s never learned the names of. Steve knows their names, but awkwardly calls them by honorifics and surnames rather than any shows of familiarity. Bucky, as a person who has always addressed his parents’ friends with their first names out of genuine like and trust, struggles to understand. 

“Clint’s bringing his dog for second term, Bruce has a kitten, the rest are placing bets on whether they’ll get along,” Bucky summarises shortly, gesturing loosely from his place on the counter. Steve grins at him and turns back to the pot of mashed potatoes, which he’s apparently going to be stuffing into some kind of peppers. Bucky, again, only knows how to make soup and really cannot be trusted with much of anything else. Steve’s humming something or another, but he’s mostly tone deaf, so Bucky doesn’t have any idea what it might be. Instead of asking what it is, he just taps a beat on the cabinets beneath him with his heels, headbanging to the ghost of a song. 

“Well, Lucky is a service dog, right? That means he’s great with kids and other pets, no?” Steve asks after a minute, effectively debunking the cats versus dogs theory Darcy is trying to bandwagon the rest of them into. Bucky starts typing into the group chat without really thinking about it, but stops to ask permission. 

“You mind if I quote you to the rest of the kids?” Bucky requests in a mostly joking tone; Steve grins and nods. He tells the lot of the rest of them nearly exactly what Steve said, bringing Natasha to a rousing victory, cheered on by Tony and the rest of those who voted with her. Bucky is glad, in a vague way he doesn’t like to think about much, that they’re giving Tony something, anything, else to think about. He knows that Tony’s father isn’t the best, and his father’s friends are almost worse, so he’s glad to act as a distraction. Lost in thought, Steve has to bring his hands down on Bucky’s legs before he notices Steve standing between them. 

“Where’d you go?” Steve asks softly, obviously worried that it’s not really a great place to be at all. Bucky shakes his head and pecks Steve on the lips, summoning a grin that doesn’t feel fake at all to reassure him. Steve simply raises his eyebrows and waits for an answer, giving him time to conjure the words rather than rushing him. 

“Matera, Italy. I went to Matera. I know Tony doesn’t really like it there. Then again, I also went to Waverly, Iowa, for Clint and back in London for Bruce, Stalingrad for Natasha - I keep getting caught on all of our friends that are in places they don’t like for the holidays. Hell, even Loki isn’t really happy with his dad for Christmas, and it makes me sad. Wanda and Pietro - we should just have our own party next year,” Bucky says long-windedly, sighing and then pressing his face into the juncture of Steve’s neck and shoulder. He just wants all of their friends in one place and pleased, sated and happy and always all there. 

“So, we’ll have our own party next year, when we’re all grown and making our own calls, as much as anyone does. Can it still be here? Everyone at least likes my mom,” Steve offers his home like it’s going to be a problem for everyone else. Bucky is making a pleased noise in the back of his throat before he can stop himself, sinking into his boyfriend and wrapping his legs around Steve’s hips as well as his arms around Steve’s shoulders. He would feel weird about it, but Steve is clinging to him as well. 

“Mashed potatoes, Steve,” Bucky reminds him after a moment, letting him go with a little regret, but he doesn’t want Steve to burn anything. He doesn’t smell anything burning yet, but that doesn’t particularly mean that the bottom hasn’t already blackened; it really is a  _ lot  _ of mashed potatoes. The amount of peppers Steve is going to be stuffing is truly criminal, and there’s going to be leftover potatoes for regular eating as well. There’s some humour in Steve, a full-blooded Irish boy, cooking enough potatoes for a moderately sized army. 

“ _ Shit _ , thanks, Buck,” he says quietly, moving back to the stove with a quickness Bucky usually associates with Steve running  _ away  _ from chores. When Bucky checks the group chat again, Wanda has changed the subject entirely, which Bucky is happy about. She’s only gotten a cell phone in the past year, and only because Tony decided all of the Avengers must have phones capable of group chat, and bought all of them iPhone sixes. Tony just happens to be one of those boys with an extraordinary amount of money and not a single fuck to be spared. At least he fixes them himself when they inevitably get broken. 

“Wanda’s actually speaking in the group chat. Pietro as well,” he comments aloud to Steve, who nods without verbal reaction. There’s a quiet to them that tastes like home, and Killarney has never felt more like peace. 

A few days later, their shit is packed again, but this time Bucky is only perhaps fifty percent sure that he wants to leave at all. Leaving his own home, he was geared up for Killarney and ready to be out from under the watch of his own parents and into the welcoming arms of Steve’s mam. He knows that he doesn’t want to leave Sarah alone again, but Hogwarts is calling his name, all of his friends faces fresh in his mind. He wants to meet Lucky and Katara, wants to see all of his friends, but he doesn’t want to leave Killarney, nor Sarah, nor Ireland as a whole. The entire country, in the landscape of Bucky’s thoughts, feels like the colour green, like peace and quiet and feeling alive. He doesn’t want to leave. 

“Come on, love, it’s nearing time for you to make your way,” Sarah says from the doorway, inclining her head towards him. Steve’s already gone through his goodbyes with Sarah, long and full of tears, Steve is nearly a grown man and Sarah’s sad to see him go. Bucky doesn’t want to go through his goodbye with her, because it always lasts longer than the hello and he doesn’t want to cry. He’s so tired of being tired, tired of being sad, tired of feeling, and he doesn’t want to leave. He wishes his friends would come to him instead, join him in the hills rather than coax him back to Scotland. Instead of picking up their bag, Bucky simply walks to Sarah, sinking into her like the child he still is. 

“Aw, love,” she says quietly, running a hand through his too-long hair and hushing him nearly silently against her. She knows him on a level his own parents haven’t been able to since the accident, despite their superior experience with the circumstances. Sarah still isn’t even exactly sure what Quidditch is, but she understands how badly he was hurt. She’s never known much about the magical world, but she cares enough that Bucky doesn’t care at all, just wants to tell her about his life and hear about hers. He wants to hold Steve’s family close, he wants to be somewhere Steve calls home. He doesn’t want to leave. 

“I don’t want to leave,” he says quietly into her hair, allowing himself to drown in his own self pity for just a moment. Her hands still in his hair before starting again, and she pulls him just a touch closer, like she’s trying to keep him here with her own body. She doesn’t want him to leave either, he realises, doesn’t want either of them to leave, but won’t try to make them stay either. Part of Bucky thinks that this might be true for the rest of their lives, and the thought is warm and full of light. 

“You have to leave, Jamie. Just a few more months, and you can be wherever you want to be. You can bring your friends, and we’ll be fine. Just a few more months, Jamie,” Sarah reassures him, stroking his hair before letting him go. “Come on, then, love. It’s time to go - you and Stevie need to… Apparate? Back to the station, now,” she rushes him along, picking up the suitcase and pressing it into Bucky’s hands. He nods and moves along, following her out of the doorway and into the living room where Steve is waiting. Steve reaches out a hand for him, and they prepare to Apparate together. 

“I’ll be there when you graduate, kids. Only a few more months,” Sarah says, and then the station is before Bucky’s eyes. Steve must have been focusing on the Apparition, because neither of them appear to have splinched. He hasn’t started crying, so Bucky is mighty proud of himself as they go to put their suitcase away, still not having said a word. The rest of the Avengers are already in the compartment when they arrive, even the ones who were absent on the ride away from Hogwarts. The absence has made the lot of them tactile, and Bucky doesn’t see a single one of them that isn’t touching at least two other Avengers. Bucky pushes Steve to the floor gently and climbs into his lap, close enough that Steve can touch any of the others and Bucky can lean his head on Wanda’s shoulder. 

“It’s good to see you guys, beyond selfies,” Bucky says once the din of their arrival quietens, smiling into the vague space between all of his friends. Clint hums in agreement, a few of the others nodding along. Natasha moves from her seat and into the floor after a moment’s pause, leaning on Bucky’s side. Darcy follows her shortly thereafter, and in the space of less than a minute, all of the Avengers have migrated to the floor in a massive pile. The codependency of them is very obvious, being as Bucky is touching at least four people right now, if not five, given that his boot is in Clint’s lap. “It’s really fucking good to see you guys,” he repeats, nuzzling his face into Wanda’s sweater. 

“If any of you fucking prefects leave, you’re catching these hands,” Pietro says, clunky and strange sounding given his accent. None of the Avengers can be blamed for how they laugh, nor how hands drift to hold down Natasha, Steve, Phil, Pepper, Bruce, and Janet. No one needs to hold down Steve, seeing as he has an entire person on top of him, but that doesn’t stop Tony’s hand from coming down on top of the Slytherin’s head. It sets off another round of giggles, most prominently Wade’s infectious laughter,  which makes those who weren’t already laughing laugh as well. 

“Where’s Lucky?” someone asks eventually, Wanda from the sound of it, but Bucky isn’t really focused on it until he realises what she said.  _ Dog _ . He sits up a little to look at Clint, suddenly questioning that as well; Lucky should be with them, no? Clint rings his hands at the looks from the rest of the Avengers and sighs, giving in. 

“They told me he has to be in a crate where the other pets are. I can’t have him until we get there,” Clint explains, and the rest of the Avengers are in an uproar before he even finishes. The phrase _ ‘That’s not fair!’  _ is thrown around more times than he can think, but instead of freaking out on her own, Wanda extricates herself from the pile, leaving Bucky leaning against the seat that was behind her. “Wanda?” Clint asks, raising an eyebrow at the Slytherin and watching her with a mix of curiosity and caution. 

“I’ve got this,” she says quietly, and walks out of the compartment without a single word to anyone. Everyone looks to both Pietro and Vision for an explanation, but neither of them have any idea what’s going on either. Wanda comes back with a golden dog walking calmly beside her, still not saying a word of explanation. The dog, assumably Lucky, climbs directly into Clint’s lap before any of them can think enough to question her. None of them want to overwhelm her, so it’s a moment before anyone is willing to ask anything at all. 

“Wanda?” Bucky asks eventually, raising an eyebrow at her simply. She shrugs and gets back into her seat, positioning her shoulder exactly as before for Bucky’s comfort. That’s not really what he meant. “What just happened?” he elaborates, urging her to explain. 

“I went and got Lucky. He was the only dog there, and he was very lonely. So, I just took him. He didn’t make any noise at all, Clint, he’s very well trained. Also, the train should be moving in perhaps five minutes,” Wanda explains with explaining much of anything at all, like  _ how  _ she did it or  _ who  _ she avoided or cursed. The lot of them look around at each other and collectively decide to drop it, changing the subject quickly. 

Another innocuous amount of time that Bucky does not note passes again, and he realises that four out of the five couples Bucky promised himself he would get together are now together, which leaves Janet van Dyne and Hank Pym. Second term has kicked off without a hitch, Lucky and Katara are settled and not fighting, everyone in the Avengers is settled and most of them are making out rather than anything close to fighting. That is, besides one Janet van Dyne and one Hank Pym. 

“Shut the fuck up, Hank! This has nothing to fucking do with you, and you don’t own me! I can go out with whomever I please, get drunk, get fucked up, and it will still have nothing to do with you!” Janet screams across the Slytherin common room, and Bucky would wince in sympathy for Hank if he didn’t agree. So long as he doesn’t try to fix what he’s broken with Janet for the past year or two, she can do as she pleases. Hell, even if he does, he’ll only have a limited amount of impact on whatever she does, based completely on how much she cares about his opinion. If he keeps fucking up, that will be slim to shit. 

“I’m your best fucking friend, Janet! It has everything to do with me -  _ you  _ have everything to do with me! My fucking god, I give a single fuck about what you’re doing, and suddenly I’m the bad guy!” Hank yells in return, not caring much for the crowd they’re gathering but more for the obvious anger on Janet’s face. Bucky isn’t sure what set them off this time - they came into the common room screaming - but he’s willing to put money on the fact that Janet has a date this weekend. They always fight more when she has a date, and yet Hank still hasn’t fortified and asked her out. 

“If it was my best friend giving a fuck about me, you’d be happy for me! But  _ no _ ,” she draws out the last word, “I’m hanging out with someone who isn’t a friend we share, and suddenly it’s like you give a fuck about if I’m single! If you actually fucking cared about me being single, you’d do something about it, Hank!” She slams the door to the Slytherin girls ‘dorm loudly, effectively ending the conversation; it’s not like Hank will be able to follow her in if she doesn’t want him to. Hank seems to still be processing what she’s said, so Bucky approaches him; he’s probably too dense to get it on his own. His kind of Ravenclaw often are. 

“You get any of that, champ?” he asks simply, completely unsurprised when Hank shakes his head. He pulls Hank over to the couch to talk to him, stubbornly glaring the two fifth years there off of it; they move without a word. “She said that if you cared about her being single, you would have done something about it. Do you understand that part?” he asks simply, and is again unsurprised when Hank shakes his head. “It means you should have asked her out. Now, you’ve kind of lost that chance. You’re going to have to woo her. Who’s she going on a date with?” he asks, a question Hank actually has to answer now that he might be warmed up to a thing such as talking. 

“Ask her out? Why would Jan want me to ask her - oh. She likes me too, doesn’t she? Bucky, I’m a fucking idiot,” Hank says, and Bucky nods, not sparing him a bit. “She’s going on a date with fucking David Cannon. That dickwad who asked her to suck his dick in fucking September. Apparently he’s  _ not that bad of a guy _ ,” Hank explains, obviously quoting Janet on the last bit. Bucky nods and tries not to get angry that Jan’s even talking to that guy, but as a way to get Hank’s attention, it’s not a bad ploy. 

“Alright, bud. You’ve got to woo her. Buy her some of her favourite flowers, pick up her favourite chocolates from Honeydukes, pick her up some broom polish, get her some shit she likes. And if you don’t know how to do all of this on your own, you don’t deserve her time of day, understand?” Bucky offers, to the point, the kind of thing he knows works best with people like Hank. Hank nods and rises off the couch, wandering out of the room and muttering to himself all the while. Steve walks into the common room directly after his leave, looking as confused as he possibly could. 

“What happened in here?” he asks, gesturing widely to the room at large, but Bucky knows he’s asking what happened to  _ Hank _ . Bucky, instead of actually answering, pats the couch next to him for Steve to sit down, immediately leaning into him once he follows. Fighting always stresses Bucky out, and this one is no different than any other, despite Bucky’s own involvement in the aftermath. Being involved at all leaves a bad taste in his mouth; he hasn’t fought since his own third year, and that was for Steve, so it barely counts. He tends not to count fighting for other people as anything but a duty. 

“Jan and Hank went off on each other again. She actually said the words  _ if you actually fucking cared about me being single, you’d do something about it _ and I still had to explain it to Hank. I’m a very tired individual, Stevie,” he explains the sequence of events in a very lackluster fashion before nuzzling his face into Steve’s shoulder. He doesn’t like fighting, doesn’t like anger unless it’s funny, and is unsettled by loudness. He’s glad to have Steve close right after he had to deal with this, and he’s glad he and Steve got their shit together before Jan and Hank. He feels like this won’t be the last fight. 

“I know, baby,” Steve replies, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair with a sigh falling from his lips. They let the silence roll over them for at least a minute, just sitting in the newly empty common room. “What were you doing in here anyway?” Steve asks after a few minutes, eyebrows raised and everything. Bucky can feel himself flush a little, but wills it down (he tries to, anyway). 

“Was gonna surprise you, after practice,” he says quietly, pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder again to hide it. 

“Aw, babe.” 

“Shut up.”

They sleep in the same bed that night, Steve’s warm bed that smells like him and sunshine despite the sun never touching Slytherin dorms. That is to say, it smells exactly as Steve’s bed back home in Ireland does, and falling asleep there is easier than ever for both of them. Bucky’s tucked into Steve’s chest like a precious thing, coddled and childlike, small against his beefed up boyfriend. It still strikes a chord with Bucky that Steve is his  _ boyfriend _ rather than his  _ best friend _ , even after they’ve exchanged I love you’s and all. Dating has never been something Bucky’s all that well off at, and it’s wonderful to think he could be now. 

The sun doesn’t shine into Slytherin dorm rooms, but the water outside of the windows tints a lighter green colour, and it’s grown on Bucky despite himself. He wakes up to find Steve still in bed with him, and he grins, pressing a kiss to Steve’s neck to wake him. 

“Come on, love, we’ve got class soon,” he says, and Steve stirs awake, looking at him with sleepy eyes. Steve immediately kisses him with his gross ass morning breath, but Bucky moves past it, given that he also has some pretty fucked up morning breath. They’d woken up with kisses all of winter break, so Bucky’s normalised the disgusting nature of them. Also, the sweetness of lazy and lax kisses isn’t lost on Bucky, and he’ll never truly mind their existence. Any way to be close to Steve is a good thing, and Steve seems to think the same thing about being close to Bucky, a magic in and of itself. Bucky wonders for a moment how he got so lucky, but chooses not to question it this morning. 

“We should probably get dressed,” Steve says between kisses, but he doesn’t make any move to get up either. Bucky sighs and faces the fact that he’ll have to be the one to get the two of them out of bed, and shoves at Steve’s chest. Steve sighs as well and heaves himself up, extending a hand to help Bucky out of the bed. “Some of your robes are with my things. Stole them over break for just this occasion. One of your straight razors is in there too,” Steve announces, rifling through the pile of clothes set in the chair by his bed. This is what Steve calls organisation, but Bucky isn’t going to call him out. 

“Thanks, babe. I really didn’t want to have to make the walk of shame to Hufflepuff,” Bucky jokes, opening Steve’s suitcase without permission and shifting through it. He feels warm with the idea that Steve looked out for him, even though the Slytherin’s been doing that for the better part of ten years, just as Bucky has for him. Steve snorts and Bucky just keeps looking for his robes, soft pleasure at making Steve laugh washing through him. He finally finds them by way of a Hufflepuff colour scheme alone, seeing as Steve and himself are only a size or two apart now. Not so easy to tell apart as when they were younger and Steve was a tiny little spitfire, willing to fight everyone with his own two hands. He slides on the robes and doesn’t think of a child with Steve’s wild eyes and Bucky’s nose, a magical conception at St. Mungo’s. He doesn’t think about it at all, just puts on his robes. 

“What exactly did you tell Hank to do?” Steve asks, nearly conversationally casual, but with his slight edge of anxiety. It’s taken until now for Bucky to realise that he and Steve are alone in the dorm, and he wonders vaguely what time it is. A quick time charm gives him an earlier answer than expected, and he notes that all male Slytherin seventh years do seem to be early risers. Without really giving it any thought, he wonders if Charles Xavier is an early riser all on his own, or if his Ravenclaw boyfriend, Erik Lehnsherr, rouses him out of bed every morning with the mental bond they’re rumoured to have. Bucky shakes that train of thought, bringing himself back to Steve’s question. 

“Get her flowers, woo her, generally try to be even marginally good enough for Janet fucking van Dyne. He’s gonna get such a fuckin’ shovel talk from Wade and Logan. It’s gonna be brilliant,” Bucky laughs, and he sees Steve smirk, even as the Slytherin works so hard as to hide it by putting on his own robes. Steve walks over to him as soon as he’s done, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and guiding him to where he left his shoes. He puts them on and presses a kiss to Steve’s lips before they make their way to the Slytherin common room holding hands. Janet is there to greet them with her leftover anger and a strained grin turned more real with the sight of them. 

“Hey, guys! How’d you sleep, Buckaboo?” she asks, falling into step with them as they make their way out of the common room, down to breakfast. She must really be mad at Hank to break their usual plans of meeting in the Great Hall first thing, but neither Bucky nor Steve say anything. Bucky links his free arm with her and they block most of the hallway on their way down it, all three of them stifling laughter as they garner stares from younger students. The sixth and seventh years, and perhaps even the fifth years, have grown accustomed to Avenger shenanigans, and mostly give them raised eyebrows. Bucky’s good cheer answers Janet’s question as much as anything else, so he doesn’t reply verbally. 

The Ravenclaw table seems to be the Avengers pick of the day, seeing as Tony is already slumping into some eggs with Loki’s hand in his hair. Clint is wrapped almost entirely around an utterly pleased looking Bruce, who seems to be reading to him quietly. Natasha and Darcy aren’t nearly so enraptured with each other, but they’re definitely holding hands beneath the table. Wade is actually openly in Pietro’s lap, but, besides a light red constant blush, the Slytherin doesn’t seem displeased with the arrangement. Steve and Bucky complete the set by leaning all over each when they sit down, and Janet looks a mite out of place. Bucky can tell she’s a bit upset, but she gets less so when Pepper arrives alone only a minute after them. Conversation floats above his head as it often does in the morning, and he steals a sip of Clint’s coffee, a bite of Tony’s toast, a strawberry directly off of Bruce’s plate. 

“Oh no,” Steve says quietly, and Bucky looks up from stealing other people’s food to follow his gaze. Hank is decked out in what looks to be a three-piece Muggle suit (Bucky doesn’t want to know where he got one so quickly; rich kids are ridiculous), holding a bouquet of forget-me-nots and white daffodils. Janet has a hand pressed to her mouth, watching Hank make his way into the Hall to the stares of the rest of its occupants. Even Tony and Clint have lifted their heads to stare at their friend, who is beginning to look more and more nervous by the moment. Hank approaches Janet and hands her the flowers. 

“I - God - I don’t deserve it,” Hank starts, always a good start, “but it would be an honour, a privilege, to have a seventy-fifth chance with you. I have no goddamn idea how many times I’ve managed to fuck it up with you, but if I could have just one chance to do it right, I will do anything. I want to make you happy, Jan. I want to take you on dates and give you gifts and hold your hand, and I’m so sorry I’ve never said anything before. Just one more time, Jan. Cancel the date with Cannon and let me have one go at it. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop being such a shitty friend, and we can go back to normal. But, I’m bad at this. I just want one go at it.” Janet looks like she’s about ready to cry, but granted Hank does as well; the two of them are some of the most unfortunately expressive people Bucky has ever met. 

“Last chance, Pym,” she replies, falsely stern, but with a hard enough edge that Hank nods anyway. She sets the flowers to her side and leaps off of her seat on the table, directly into Hank’s arms with enough force to startle him. He catches her with little effort and she kisses him with even less, wrapping her arms around his neck. She doesn’t touch the ground until their lips have disconnected, and she stays in his arms anyway. “I don’t have a date with Cannon. I just hoped it would work this time,” she tells him and their audience, the only ones close enough to hear being the Avengers. Hank is turning red, but he doesn’t respond with anger, instead just letting her lead him to sit at the table with her. 

“Good fucking job, Hank,” Bucky says, reaching out to pat the Ravenclaw on the back before leaning back against Steve. Hank blushes dark all over again and the rest of the Avengers are broken from their false spell of silence, cheering for their friend. The rest of the Great Hall goes back to going about their morning business, the group of them having caused their shenanigans of the day. That’s the final couple, Bucky realises. This is the last of them, and Bucky is done with his self-imposed regime. Besides his first five couples, he even got himself together with Steve and Wade together with Pietro. Bucky nuzzles his face into Steve’s chest, letting the achievement of it sink in. It’s done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a rollercoaster for me, hope you enjoyed!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for "Where Clarity's Found"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11843337) by [princessoftheworlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds)




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